They rise without warning,
sharp as winter breath,
threading through the hours
with hands that do not know mercy.
Memories slip beneath my skin,
burrow deep,
pressing against the places I pretend
are healed.
......
They rise without warning,
sharp as winter breath,
threading through the hours
with hands that do not know mercy.
Memories slip beneath my skin,
burrow deep,
pressing against the places I pretend
are healed.
......