I'm sorry lover
but we have no skin.
we shred apart
with any moving step.
it's magical; mystical
how we can't get to know
each other.
behind this torn skin
I carry stories.
you carry blank canvases.
I'm scared of changing
you in all of the wrong places.
our hands feel like rust;
I pick the scabs of the past
that won't heal.
when I wanted to disappear
there was a subtle touch
of dry lips
and I breathed in.
now I have to rethink
my choices.
you're my test.
I'm your teacher.
the story repeats itself.