I reach for your aches
your skin jumps away;
in pride you find truth
but insist I am your
only lie.
Eyes of brass search for harm,
creating their narrative --
things to pass.
But dear,
Can you see the wounds along
my already scarred
flesh.
We should be breaking bread,
a communion of souls.
Instead my welts bleed as your words land,
unrealizing across something
already so broken.
Again, I bleed in painful silence.