Lonely spaces are filled with self-temptations and anxiety.
***** secrets crawl to the deepest depths.
My skin can't shake this constant itch;
as if you've dug yourself to my bones.
My fingers twiddle and bend back searching for that ever so warming touch.
This cold skin is shedding in hopes to start brand new.
So weary, used and torn.
Who could see beauty in a tragedy as sad as me?