A poem about my bf who self-harms. Please comment.

Impressions

I utter my love's name,

in the midst of a toss,

in the roughness of a turn.

And yearn for his body,

to speak and to burn.

I feel the impressions of hate,

and the shapes of shame.

They come in all sizes.

His heart reeks of pain.

Impressions so deep,

some fade away.

No matter what,

the stories stay.

Beyond the broken links,

his arms fit so perfectly..

And tame the red curls.

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