Scar Tissue

She was born pure and simple
Brought into the world so innocent, so delicate
She looked around, desiring knowledge
Yet fascinated only to the unthinkable

And down the pike, she became repulsive
Does not recognise happiness
Though to most, she seems content, calm, at ease

Yet she felt only soreness
The deeper she gazed into her own eyes,
She somehow sees only resentment

She can be high-strung
But often overshadowed by melancholia - her own gloom, the blue devils
Until she reached her depths

Tight-lipped, tongue-tied, close-mouthed, not even murmurs
The girl with the frown would only shrug
And later cut deep into her own skin

And the art on her body were not just scars
The masterpiece placed close to her wrists indicates the end of her war
"Forever fighting a battle," she said. "And the demons have won."

The razor was her paintbrush
Her body was the canvas
But her masterpieces were never on display
Only when she died today

-PRK-

That Strange Thing

Strangers we began with
Strangers we are still
But the strangest thing about it is
We just don't feel strange anymore
Because of that similar grievance
And that strange understanding we have
Is just never as strange
As other strangers would act strangely to
Like every strange thing strangers do
For you are strange and so am I
And I am a stanger you can't deny

-PRK-