i wear the scars
of every
incidental
adoration
in the colorless
indentions
between the lines
written
for the her
they project
themselves into
carelessly
as tic marks
form a callus
in the callous
disregard
shown to intent

scrubbed so many
unwanted
lipstick stains
from pink flesh
that the weeping
wounds
from misplaced
affection
leaves every nerve
aflame
with bitter
misunderstandings
that leave me
questioning
every word written
in apprehensive
malaise
that the vultures
will pick
my bones clean
while i still live