straining to breathe through your eyes you collapsed over the bench when i pulled you up my hand listened for warmth at your shoulder and you called me a dumbass for taking poor care of knives and you touched the bad part of my skull i guess hands have the right to a strand of hair the muscle of a shoulder / even mine but i want to touch everyone skull-shaping is a bad old science but now your bone and my fingertip should meet shards from touching over these walls