When violence came


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.


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