Cold.

The thought of you still chokes me

it holds me in place and makes me thrash,

while the pieces you left of me struggle to

stay intact with holes and cracks

I wonder how to get back

to the version of myself

who was whole

I’m still broken 

but he tries to fix me

he tries to fill what you

stole…and maybe I could let him

maybe he really could mend me…but he

doesn’t have your hands, and, unfortunately, I don’t

know how to let someone else

touch me