Once or twice
decisions bite unwise, saying;
unforgiving
are the memories,
unforgettable
are the scars.

Scorch marks
embedded in hands of milk
make volcanic craters;
sat in skins of satin silk.

The crash of flesh
into cigarettes;
lights, ignites and separates us.
Sombrely; in torched dark.

Burns; become words;
impressions.

Slash; abstract, absurd;
expressions.

Lacerations speak, some stutter,
of a blade which wreaked;
silent pain,
on arms which seldom mutter.

It took the opening of a cutter;
violence came,
because of an inability to scream,
an inability to speak or utter.

So, lines had to be drawn; extreme.

In disguised minds, unbelieved
eyes of thrice, say;
this living
isn’t just sensory,
existential
are the stars.

© poormansdreams
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