A dotted line depicts the distance
of all those who wish to see me near,
a desolate route devoid of any guidance
as each traveler strays from my directions.
I wish to move on from this solitude,
to extend my limbs as a branch of an oak,
reaching above to embrace the cool breeze
that dances across my skin turned numb,
bitten by the cold, awaiting its thaw.

Emotional introductions evocative of relent,
a painstaking desire to resent each progression
made on this journey of winding freeways,
the verdant foothills whispering me close,
an invitation inside for the darkness to engulf
the drastic resolutions that continue to evade.

The presence of life is only noticed
by the degraded footprints
etched into the unlit roadside,
indicative of the person left behind,
the grieving of a heart long forgotten now changed,
a two-way mirror cracked on the surface
predicting the obscurities of tomorrow's fate.

I continue to find myself stranded here
at the intersection of solace and intimacy,
a blind regression into the forceful indoctrination
that once convinced me of the intrinsic deformities
littered across my broken bones, my branded skin
forever possessing your infernal signature,
unrelinquishing my credence from your grasp
and forcing me into a haunted revolution
of all the words you'd made me believe.

I wish to move on from this solitude,
to extend my limbs as a branch of an oak,
reaching above to embrace the cool breeze
that dances across my skin turned numb,
bitten by the cold, awaiting its thaw;
intimacy continues to evade my grip,
slipping through my quivering fingers
as water flows from a rusted chalice
onto the bloodstained carpet below,
a discrete illustration of all the love
that continues to be ripped from my life
at the hands of you,
you who never truly left me,
YOU who deprive me of the intimacy
I once prided myself on,
the trust I was able to give
freely,
surely,
intimately.