Tags
a bit crude, deeper than scars, ha in hell, poem, Poetry, prat fall on acid, skin you'll never see, sonnet, spilled ink
Some scars glare. Split chin? Prat fall on acid.
Trippin’. Others I don’t show. Those half-healed
holes in my chest where nipples once rested?
I still keep my shirt on. Nothing revealed
but scabs peeled. I’m crafting a puckered grin
across my tum-tum, this beggar’s belly,
as if I’m trying to spill my guts. Skin
parts just like a zipper’s tug easily.
Again: skin you’ll never see. What is flesh
but a host of nerves that scream? A bit crude
but I’ve learned to live with it; I’ve cut my fat
and carved each nerve ending out. Nerves end; fresh
slices soothe. Not like you’ll soon see me nude
and ask: ha in hell did yee survive that?