How my skin remains cold, I do not know.
My dry, cracked hands reach for yours,
But my reach is not met with warmth,
Merely a gust of bad memories.
My crinkling lungs only release dust
And my tired eyes haven't seen light in days
But I remain, still,
Reaching for your hand.
And with tears running down my cheeks,
Accompanied by a hopeful smile,
I pretend your gaze would meet mine
If I could simply open my eyes.
If I would simply come back to life.