Sometimes we all search for "nothing I want to find".

A hunger starving to be fed,

A thirst unslakable forever,

A need never to be fulfilled...

A craving...

It gouges itself into our bones,

Imprints itself in each breath,

Insist on making us bleed...

A cancer...

Forever waking,

Forever night,

The scent of sand

And the moon's soft light.

Forever touching,

With nothing to find,

Except memories;

Those memories and the scars they've left behind.

The quilted texture of her flesh

Entices fingers that see to seek more.

Lines etched by anger forever mar one who smells of sunshine.

"Your skin carries anger."

Lines etched by cruelty forever mar one who is moon-touched.

We both carry anger on our skin.

Mother wolf's confession startles because it is an echo,

an understanding of something never spoken about.

"No one could take the darkness away from me. I liked it dark...

I became addicted to the darkness..."

Scars in flesh heal, they seal and bleed no more.

But what of the ones inside?

The ones that made her father cry?

The ones that bleed unwet drops of grief and horror.

"Why won't my scars close?"

She is dripping with invisible bloodstains;

She is strangling on silenced screams;

She is suffocating on the scent of sand;

And all the memories she doesn't want to dream.