It's been years now.
My body worn and star-laced.
A million veins frayed over
a decade of people
who are not you.
The harshness of the Sun.
Taunting me with its immortality.
Letting the skin feel warmth
hints of blended laughter
all but forgotten by the soul.
Wrists scarred by their nudity,
Hands burnt with emptiness.
I look down at my wounds
and wonder if they're odes to you.