I hate it
I hate the fact that there is still a trace;
visible to anyone who opens his or her eyes to
the harrowing truth of this sad reality:
A trace of the pale lacerations which run down my forearms.
Odd pieces of beige are woven into mounds of white scar-tissue
Ivory scar-tissue
Chalky
Ashen
Corpse-like
Pallid, Pasty Scar-tissue which dominates the surface...
Slight indentations of wounds which
partly remain
are Splattered in between
the muted hues of
the polychromatic war-zone
which is home
to the
most malicious
civil-war
I have ever seen....
