Lonesome Cuttter

THERE ARE SCARS ON THE FLESH

SOME RUN ALMOST TO THE BONE

AS IF IT WAS ITS OWN POEM

THEY CRISS CROSS THEY ZIGZAG

THEY HAVE NAGED AT THE BRAIN

THEY RUN BIG AN SMALL

THEY DON'T HAVE A DESIGNANTED

SPOT OF SHADE THEY RUN

ALL OVER THE PLACE

THE SCARS HAVE RUN

RED FULL OF BLOOD THEY SHED

AS THE SHARP TEETHED SHED OF

METAL COMES DOWN ON HER ONCE

AGIAN

SHE SITS IN HER ROOM AND

CRIES

WONDERS HOW SHE CAN STOP

WILL IT EVER GO AWAY

DOES THIS FADE?

ONE MORE BLADE OF SHARP TEETH RIP THROUGH THE FLESH

IT ALL STARTED BACK THEN....

SATISFACTION SMILE OF ANOTHER CUT TO WATCH....