Rage That Has Me Trapped
Scars and cuts upon his skin—
each takes the shape of a certain sin.
On his face around his eyes,
an intricate array of morbid designs.
He sighs and clutches a point on his chest;
a wound from battle, a mark from inner-self.
He cannot find the perfect knife
to cut the shackles that make him bind
with the road upon the sky,
with the plants that have long since died.
He doesn’t know how to forget,
but because of this he won’t relent.
Darkness framed by bright blue eyes,
trapped yet seeping through the pores
of his very soul.
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