Words trapped behind the wall of my fingertips
That's a clever way of starting your poem. Hadn't thought of it that way.
Your poems normally confuse me. I try to get hints from your tags, but these ones just made me more confused. I read it again after seeing the tags and was wondering if it was somehow about children (centuries interweave), but that doesn't make sense from later on.
It sounds lonely and hardened though. Like over time the sharp rocks have gotten worn down, so it's not cutting, but it's still cold and there's no way in. Too much spent and now empty, but hard. Lots of longing. Don't give up.