Messages were left
written in skin
ridges raised, no drop of ink
braille map to a wounded soul
tracing each, fingers skip
from line to snarled line
they begin in the heart
and never end
Try to read them
so tangled, overlapping
but some of them tell lies
like the passive face
too injured to speak
split by a rictus grin
cloven voice
and shattered eye
Tracing lines
with the bright colors
and perfumed masks of now
brings no meaning
for the etching of the child
is muted in the marred flesh
of a thousand broken yesterdays
~ ~ ~
© W.R.R. 9/13/2011
For all victims of abuse; you are not alone.
As Ashes Scatter 