Screaming Scars


They were once in a box, all neatly tied

but I’ve since, for a soul in need

in one swift move, closed tight my eyes

and pulled out the horrors of me

they were bloody and awful, so stark against my pale soft hand

and now here I held them, for what they were

not wanting to see or think or feel

but desiring to help the lost soul

I stood



with grieving sweat,

I held them out with a willowy arm,

willing my mouth not to vomit fear

Accusers they were, my ugly and bloody scars

they rose up in my hand with horrifying ease

and they pointed to my ashen face

though my eyes would to fall out of their sockets

the story was plain to see

My heart began to move as if trying to escape my breast

I clutched to keep it all contained

the pain




but it seeped out of my pores and eyes

all thick and black like tar

I opened my mouth to speak of grace

but the lost soul scoffed and crouched down wild like

leapt on me her words bladed with fire

her vengeance set the tar aflame

I shrieked and writhed as it were the depths of hell

I reached for the screaming scars, but I could see through the red hot licks

that she danced round the scars with others made blind

jeering at my painful destruction

when the fires quit, their fuel run dry

her rage ceased like a wave hitting cliffs

her hair tossed like sea sprays into the air

and she left me a heap of ashes