Scars.
Rigid and raised,
Mountains of haze
Hazy night in a daze.
No lust or hope for praise.
Essays and essays,
Exhanged
Musical phrase
About crossroads and freeways
Begging for that skin craze.
Seeking to feel pain
With the punishing blockades,
Lifelike screenplays,
And memorial Sundays.
Those thoughts will betray
We misinterpret and mislay,
With winter like swordplay
And summer like dark grays.

It weighs and weighs.

Let me rephrase...
Scars.
This is cliche, but I'm amazed.