It bites into the battle field which is my body,
and screams as I draw it across patchwork skin.
Blood licks at the wound, hot and angry,
and cries down in a burning trail of sin.
A substitute for the tears I cannot cry,
are these rivulets of the most violent red.
High pitch pain hums, electric, through my body,
like Frankensteins monster resurrects me from dead.
Molten lava solidifies on my skin,
creating an unnatural wounded terrain.
Burgundy highlighting faded pink scars,
a permanent reminder of yesterdays pain.
And I wake in the morning and tend to my wounds,
a bandage, a band-aid, a long-sleeved shirt.
Dance out of the house ‘alive' and joyful,
forgotten is the intensity of my previous hurt.
Hide behind the mask of lies, she whispers,
a few suspect more but daren't ask.
Lies that roll, too easily, off the tongue
build a dubious future on her unstable past