She sleeps with her arms cradling her body,
holding herself together as she lay.
Afraid she will come apart while her eyes are closed.

If you rip her open, a quilt of leftover pieces.
Pieces placed and abandoned.
Find a spot between the ribs where her heart used to be,
patch in your lies and your empty words.

Perhaps her frayed seams will finally split.
Tugging at the binding of her forearm and hand, she digs for proof.

She wishes to peel off every inch of skin sewn onto her bones,
to create a new canvas free of rips and tattered edges.