I can feel my skin crawl over my bones
migrating slowly away from the cold,
on top of ghastly holes
that fill with dust when I’m alone,
aching to be
In your comfortable hold.

Where does all this time go?
It seems to twist, bend, and fold
Evading my fingers
That stay stuck in desperate pose,
Clawed and reaching for the unknown.

Waiting for something to fall into my palms,
That’s safe for keeping in these wounded arms.

Tell me you still care,
Let me know something is there;
To stop this skin from searching for your warmth,
To cease the oozing from these wounds,
Allowing them to heal up and close.

-SLuR