frosted fingertips
trace distance along my spine,
inching through snow
a paralysis in time,
as I’m less inclined,
grisly anchors sink
ancient stones bind.
mending callosotomies,
mistakes were made indeed,
unfolding into problems,
see their skin bleed,
coverups in veils,
a word cannot be said,
but I know what you did,
I know that they are dead.
Shaky hands claim precision
yell at all for naught,
unravel as twine frayed
but I have not forgot,
splash across linoleum
I’ve seen that look before,
cavernous exhale into breath
please, no more.