Calloused Words

I tried not to stare into her eyes. I would get lost in her apathetic gaze and forget to feel. Silent like fog it hung in the air too think to see through.
She was stuck inside a haze again, chaotically trying to rearrange her brain.

I couldn't really see her through the mist that exerted from her pores.
Instinctively my hand reached out to her, but I pulled away. From what I saw, it almost seemed to be sacrilegious to touch her.
With skin like flowing cream, the lightest touch would send it crawling in spiderwebs of ripples.
(And I'm not known for having soft hands but I wanted to get caught like a fly in the strands of silk.)

She wrapped herself in silence to keep the tumultuous turmoil that pillaged her brain to herself. She was afraid the slightest sound would shatter that shaky level of concentration she needs to organize her disobedient mind.

I couldn't help but wonder if words would be able to slip through the chapped grooves of her velvet lips and how her voice would match her smooth appearance.
But when words finally crept from between her whithered crevasses they were full of calloused empathy that clawed at my apathy like steel wool.

She opened her mouth to swallow the white noise that escaped pulling me from her think fog, and I could finally see
the blackened, decayed cave that harbored the violence of screaming steel wool.