He didn't believe me,
I told him I got into a knife fight with a tiger,
But I'm the feline felon
with the knife stripes down my skin.
How could I ever describe,
more than the icy mountains tell you,
for the pain I felt in words
was more than littered literature,
it was the screaming shell, the shallow scratch,
the emptiness within.
And when my skin goes tan,
I say i missed lines in fake bake,
but the white scars prickle softly,
bright as hot glass in the flame.
The body's shredded jigsaw,
is ridiculed by strangers,
never paved in pain,
they pity pale pitted patience,
without the maul of metal petals,
signing their disdain.
I got into a knife fight with a tiger
(But I'm the feline felon)
Please don't know my shame.
Adding your comment:
