The touch

She’s not sure why
Her face is red
Raw and wet and streaked and
Fallen
Lines this way and that
Telling a story she can’t
Eyes clouded with
A pain fresh but old
A scar torn open
A wound too deep
She wants the touch
that heals, that soothes
But ever doubtful
She deserves
Can she ask?
Can she receive?
She begs for dark
And peace from the trembling.
And maybe
A touch can reach her
There.