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