heal me
I have no retail value
no coven of worldly wealth,
just a face full of scars
and a back full of lashed welts,
a throat full of promises that choke me
ears that ride on the hollow remarks,
eyes cursed with beauty they’re told not to see
as the angels shine through the dark,
I have no discernible shelf life
I’m already an unregulated age,
as the cauldrons boil with faeces of truth
write your own obituary on its rage,
I have no one to mourn my death
though plenty have mourned my life,
I’m everything you hope never to aspire to
I lay buried without the hope of respite,
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