Inch

Every time you’ve inched closer,

Could you hear the crack of porcelain,
shattering into shards?

Could you feel the shiver of skin,
shuddering from unease?

Could you find the rivulet of sanguine,
seeping from my scars?

Could you tell the change of tone,
creating distance with walls?

Could you see the tears of strain,
begging me to step closer?


Yet, every time you’ve inched closer,



Could you notice me inching farther?