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Invisible Scars
That fire, that burning cold
forged in a kiln composed
of solid indifference.
Raised not I
where love leaves a burnish,
a blush
sweet as a Devonshire dawn.
This fire I crawled from
ravaged and drawn,
I dragged over scrapings of
severed contempt that
left burning scars on me
in and out every inch.
That d//'//urberville life I never lived,
caught in the cross hairs of humans
with no room to love or forgive;
no time to tend kindling,
shaved thin to burn without rest,
just chunks of sighs; a drawn smile at best.
I was born in cold fire,
where scars run so deep
even I need the light just so,
the mirror of delicate adjust,
to see those invisible scars
that remind me I’m not of love,
but a moment of lust.
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