Desperate

How is it

that i can want something so bad,

want it with every bone

in my tired body,

and yet my hands

won't reach out to take it? 

The need for any sort of

resemblance of comfort

slips past my clingy arms,

and i feel hopelessness

bubble in my chest.

Uncertainty has become

the bed companion

in a space

that feels so utterly alone.

Am i meant 

to feel empty

the rest of my life?

Or will i have

a stroke of luck

that will allow me to have something

for once.