Old skin, you have feasted
on silence for long. The words
you don't have are your scars.
When will you be whole again?
When will your creases fill?
For long you have listened
and forgotten your voice. In
the nights of agony only a
whimper escapes your tongue
and long before it falls into
discerning ears it dies in the
chaos of understanding. There
is always a story you never
live to tell. But its your version
that goes missing.
