Changing Script

My hand cramps—letters slip,

a crooked signature, jagged and quick.

Words wobble like unsteady breath,

scribbled lines on a shaky sketch.

The note looks like someone else’s scrawl,

loops untamed, no rhythm at all.

Familiar shapes lost their hold,

a nervous dance on paper, uncontrolled.

Each stroke a confession, trembling and stark,

telling of battles marked in dark.