Ghostly hands pt3

I fold my arms, a shroud of dread, I grasp my own hand, veils now spread, Each ghostly hand whispers of need, Yet others recoil, with hearts that bleed. In silence I linger, shadows entwined, Yearning for warmth, but left far behind, A tethered touch, as echoes call back, I chase through the dark, but they fade to black.