It hands out
what you whisper for.
You hang on
throughout your breaths,
until you’re revealing
the wounds,
those you sealed
as thin cracks.
Round stretches
of pale skin.
Depleted flesh
that hangs loose
for ongoing
urgency.
You’re starving
for safety
among such
lowest scenes.
You’re damaging
the sole connection,
the one road
back to reality.
There’s this naked
phenomenon.
It forges your loyalty
towards the past
with all its
scattered highways.
The one route
is the lone pathway
for discovering
what to remember
that never left.
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