Clawing my way back

Can you stroke my skin?
         As the scattered nail marks
Pencil thin
        Dictate the trail your touches make

As off-my-shoulder circles break.

I loathed the dark for what he sees could
          create a need for deeper seams.

Whereas the day tore off in a different shade

my nails across my shoulder blade.

The clincal white of what i'd done
drew drops of blood from every disgresion

I'd picked at scabs that covered still
the basis
of what's fake and real.

The fakeness of your unfocussed eyes
The reality of your bleeding goodbyes

And the frankness of my ichy lies.