Scars

Oh! Undulating mood.
Harrowed thoughts and a sparse
Nest of recollections for
Fair fortunes on which I brood.

Skin, torn and contorted.
Fingertips a sign of
A future bleak and a past
Doctored and left distorted.

Oh! Talentless wretch! I
Suffer for my art and
My art, it suffers for me.
I, some malproportioned sketch.

Skin, lined with old fault lines.
A freeze-thaw depression,
The past of sewing scissors,
My ****** Nazca Lines.

Oh! My littered landscapes!
Thin plastics kicked up in
The wind. ***** my longings,
The map to plot my escapes.