Scar
If I were that scar above your rose tinted lips,
of whom you keep picking and removing dead cellular dust,
out of hatred that rises from your porous subcutaneous layer
of insecurity,
I probably would have bled more than you think.
I couldn't have shed tears, possibly.
But I've heard every little wound needs love to heal,
And so will I-
your dearest hideous scar.
Copyright © Cloud Fever | Year Posted 2025
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