Her

In my head, there are millions of skins

touching me,

lying next to me in bed.

They can go away,

but they're never really gone.

I think about the girl that I was, 

the girl that could have been,

but she's so far away now.

She's walking home

with the man of her dreams

and feeding people on the street.

What was I then

that I'm not anymore?

How can I crawl back to that person

without bloodying my fingertips?

Without scraping my knees?

I'd walk to get there,

but I don't know which direction to go.

And so, the skin that was me,

the ghost that still dances by herself,

calls for me

screams for me

begs for me 

to come back. 

But I can't even hear her voice

anymore.