Creating Space.

It shivers down my spine,
Fingertips that promise a grand escape;
And my bones do not run.
Black boxes kicked aside,
I see the mirror to find myself.
Eyes of oak stare back,
Gentle with a flayed past,
And my chest heaves the gesture to come home.
Cracked partings and broken promise,
It's all I have known.
Seeing you as my reflection,
I begin to believe there is hope for the long forgotten.