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.