Wobbling Stability

Every time I turn it, I can hear it sigh,

it wobbles like questions I dare not apply.

Late nights with a roommate, frustrations laid bare,

our laughter erupts, though we both feel the wear.

Does it mean something deeper? This knob that’s askew,

a symbol of chaos in everything new?

I hold on and twist, half anxious, half bold,

while life’s little tensions seem more than foretold.

Is it unstable, this mess in my mind?

wobbling gently like worlds intertwined.

Just a door handle, but I can’t shake the thought,

it feels like my dreams and the battles they’ve fought.