Loss of Color

Don't, please... I need... I'm sorry... On so many levels. "Poetry/experimental"

Since you walked away,
  I've come unsealed,
watching your ghost haunt my door.

      From the weeping crack
in my armor
a strand of
scarlet
reaches out,
    chasing your heels.

          Kneeling, I clutch,
      in ash-gray arms,
your portion of my core—
begging, coaxing
  the wilted remnant home.

  Did you know?
  —afford me a place
          of honor?

      —or did my gift
      waste away
  on some dark,
forgotten,
  dusty
        shelf?