Scratching, always scratching
dead skin \'round his teeth, his nails;
picking at his scars and scabs
occupies him for days upon days.
Waiting, always waiting
his wet skin like surgical gauze
now and then fails, letting his insides out
as he fidgets, fusses with the knots
chewing at the rags, hopelessly hopelessly
waiting for his cavalry, waiting to be free.