Empty pain again,

Worse than before.

Hollowing me out and

Rattling around inside.

Not all at once this time,

But slowly –

Like the grains of

So much sand,

Slipping inexorably through

My scarred fingers.

Some uneven shards catch,

Leaving scars of their own

To mark my hands,

Even after the last grains

Are finally lost.

So when the raw skin

Finally heals over,

Looking just like new,

Only a few waxy scars,

And that hollow throb

Will remain to show

What once was.