There is bitterness in being this pared-down, stripped of all excess until all that is left is bone. We were shadow-play, ghosting what we had, our talk mere echo and our skin its own memory. The path ends here and I have no feet to tread another: too much loss hollows the heart unfeeling. Partings have unpieced me and my clay is wire: I cannot see myself now: I look and see a liar.next poem