THE SCAR THAT NEVER LEFT

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THE SCAR THAT NEVER LEFT

These scars are the memories
of pain that linger inside of me.
They remind me of the incisions between my thighs,
and how I lost my pride,
to the face I never knew.

If death were to bear inscriptions,
mine’d bear my brother’s writings.
That death houses itself in my father’s house,
and with its familiar cologne, every other night,
this grim reaper snakes into me.
I and my sheets have been raided,
of sanctity, and the need to live on.

My smiles and recherché aura are just a deception;
a mirage, a lie, a facade
that ensconces the searing twinge I felt
on the night my innocence was murdered
by the extension of a he who I deemed an indefectible lamb.
My urbanity was shattered, battered, and transformed to a slum;
a place of no ecstatic decency.
The me you knew of is now a mess
who sees stains in every man
because that lamb left castles of hell in me.

I’m writing this in the middle of the night
with no lantern with me or a candle light.
I’m here alone in the dark
thinking of how pained I am with the scar,
the scar that marked the pain on my body
leaving me heartbroken and burdened.
I’ve always cried in hope
that one day the scar would leave,
yet, it stays making me to grieve

©️Professor
©️Epiphany
©️TurksonQuills
©️Titilayomine