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erica-boydPoems
Do your scars ever insist That you touch them? Do they hover above your skin, Just so you'll scratch them? Like maggots Crawling over a carcass Wounds that will never close The burrowing mouths Leave permanent trails Because the flesh is dead. So contrasting, The pink of healing That was once an angry scab. But you scratched at that, too, Because it stuck to your body Like some parasitic tick. And I wonder now, If the circles of scars That trail down my forearm, Are like a line of dark ants That will follow me forever. Or if in their ugly hatching, I can see metamorphosis. But in the corner of my mind, I know They will always follow. And in the corner of my room, I hear the buzzing Of a fly.
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Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
Cigarette Burns
Do your scars ever insist That you touch them? Do they hover above your skin, Just so you'll scratch them? Like maggots Crawling over a carcass Wounds that will never close The burrowing mouths Leave permanent trails Because the flesh is dead. So contrasting, The pink of healing That was once an angry scab. But you scratched at that, too, Because it stuck to your body Like some parasitic tick. And I wonder now, If the circles of scars That trail down my forearm, Are like a line of dark ants That will follow me forever. Or if in their ugly hatching, I can see metamorphosis. But in the corner of my mind, I know They will always follow. And in the corner of my room, I hear the buzzing Of a fly.
erica-boyd
Written by
erica-boyd
American
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
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