Dead Limbs

Scold through gritted teeth, clench both fists.
Everything that is hated resides inside them.
The grip constricts as every moment passes by,
as every memory constantly ticks.
And so those nights began
"where sleep was solace and solace finally caved in."
Awake, thinking of the things
that don't seem to let go.
Thinking of what could've been,
of what should've been.
It may get the best of us,
but I swear it won't be the death of us.
And if I could, I'd always keep you from harms way;
I'd keep all your demons at bay.
If I could, I'd strike them all again, again, and again,
until they couldn't live to see another day,
if it meant you'd always be okay.