History of an old wound

An old poem rests on the shelf pages are yellow skin 
A peeled part of my self, dust covered faded words folded in
Forgotten and incomplete, left open an ending to heal
A wound that still bleeds through bone, raw pain that I feel
Oozing infection's rot spreads to the rest of my written soul
Through thin skin, black spots of cobweb letters scroll
Each touch filled with surging rage, a stage of festering cancer
To heal a page of yellow age, amputation the only answer