Bruises I Hem
These shaded scars may alarm,
Yet in my eyes, they are surely painted.
Scorned love that which won’t harm
In my sigh of relief I cry to this, tainted.
Fire lustfully denies the everso carnaging fate.
Torn apart by the advantage of its flaws,
I am morley sewed up in these lion claws.
I am surely bowed up in famen i did cause.
Take my flower
And take my name.
Don’t leave a crumb.
Don’t leave me numb.
Apologies won’t phase
In this love-land daze.
Bruises I Hem, in which shade,
Paint over the pale flesh I jade.
Flying in a strong state of contentment,
I turn back to find my eyes are closed.
I am nothing but a seeping resentment
In a life of dreary follies, now disposed.
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