if these hands could draw, sketch the visions dancing

if these hands could paint, dappled colors of the horizon

if this voice could sing, the harmonies of true love

if these words could speak, the thoughts pure as sunlight

but there is a disconnect, between brain and body

a schism, that refutes refrains, redesigns, defies, the creation

leaving scribbles in the margins of what could have been

leaving raw emotion, trapped in the shambling corpse of disaster