Something I Can't Create

I can't grab at the things that don't exist.
My hands aren't nearly ready for a such a day,
When things like sorrow and hurt can be touched.
Though I feel these things,
There is something about the acid that courses through your veins,
And you wonder why you are here at all.
A certain movement of world brings you to this spot,
And you know why you are and why you can't be.
These things aren't light.
They aren't the petals of a brightly light rose,
Nor the delicate threads of a butterfly.
All I know is,
I feel something I can't create.
Sorrow and hurt can't be touched,
But something can be.
Its not a choice to be touched,
But cannot be a world that can be touched.
I cant create the world I inhabit,
Or place the people in my hands.
But I mold the day that I hold the day,
A bleeding you in my hands.
Ill patch the holes with whatever I can,
And sew them neat and tight.
Because for all my might,
And stray light for stray light,
I want you in my arms.
Because I cant create the world I live in,
But I sorrow the touch of you to me,
With a painful angst that makes me shake.
I pound the walls with plastered hands,
Begging it to give me what I want.
Touched cant be the world to describe where Ive been,
But Ive been to the bin,
And searched among the clothes,
Awating those soft gloves to patter my hands,
With the softness of whatever world I cant create.
Steal my chocolate strawberries,
With the red check on top,
Because the football wont reach the hands,
In whatever world I cant create,
But hold me with the guitar of life, and
Picture me with the small lense,
Because you belong with me,
In this world I cant create.