Self Harmageddon
Scars can be the sky
The unpleasant pleasantries before I ever tried to please,
One's initial impression,
Pressurised to press against my very mind,
And selfishly dissolve my very sense of self
But scars can be the stars
A dancing dissaray of swift strokes
coordinated like a swift's inordinate slicing flight
In their cumulative crowd, countless in their layers
Swallowing the serene sight of the stationary sky,
Beautiful and bountiful, fizzling- fading out with time
And scars can make up the moon
A collected culmination crisscrossed into a crescent
Calling the collapse and crashing armageddon,
b'tween self and selfless sabotage.
For as tainted tissue fades with age
The unfused flesh skirts the sea of scorned'n scarred skin
A sea of reds, whites, purples
Red as the ragged retch as fresh flesh is surfaced
White as the teeth of a two faced sheep gnawing on a frail fawn
Purple as the bruised hue hailing the eve of the eventide.
Select solitude calling the collapse and sudden relapse
For selfish selflessness hath torn my scorn'd soul to shreds
See not past the unsteady smile marring my malformed maw.
Though, see to it that,
My scars may make up the night
But I will shine unselfishly as myself, during the day.
7//9//2026
Mutilaem K.M.P.
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