Self Harming
In spring
gaze into my hazel eyes
see distant horizons
flat-lining
the congolese savannah,
touching bruised clouds
against your creamy skin,
hives peppered
with puce contusions
your pummeled complexion,
clinging to warm clay
your frantic cuticles
scratch twisted wrists
in tiger stripe slashes
as night wolves screech
an anthem of loss.
Blackened clouds
smudge charcoaled
crimson tinted skies
as humid breath
exhales.
But now
these fists clench
like knotted rope
as ink clouds etch dusk
and punch the night
with their thundering.
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