Weeping Wound

Life ain't no bed of roses We're not destined to drown in a pit of despair Aguish is unknown until flesh grazes a blade of barbed brair A prickle that pricks A nettle that nicks and stings my gaping gore A scab I scratch and pick My heart...a naked sore The pain of a plant's pike Poison seeping through my pores Miss Ivy takes her effect Toxins causing lock jaw Severed sinew plastered with rags A slash sutured with cotton and thorns Suffering through my misery The tears begin to fall Hard crust clogging my chest Covering a fresh wound that once formed Blood caked over a cut Creating a congealed blood cork Fighting my inner demons The tiger bears it's claws Messing with the bulls emotions I am the matador Dismembered dreams it seems that every memory is now torn Present and future vines intertwine The past pondered and warped Mouths spew false truths Profanity strewn on the floor Ears sewn shut while lips sip on a glass of gossips gall The wizard chants and casts a spell A corpse is reborn Here I sit on the edge of a cliff While thoughts pace and linger outside death's door My brain is linched, hung by a hurricane of thoughts Head decapitated by a sickle my mind is now brutally butchered brawn A bayonet thrusts into my side An assassin attacks me with saws Penetrating my beating benevolence I'm punctured by grape-stained swords I am nothing but a ragged ragdoll A cast-away with an aching core A strolling soldier A wandering warrior An outcast that was scorned