Amra Pajalic

Scar tissue

 

You flay me with your words

gouging my flesh to ribbons

with your whip-like tongue

leaving scars that you pretend

not to see, but that I always feel.

Every time I dress I see them,

little white lines criss crossing my back

a map marking our relationship.

Each time you whip me anew

the scars re-open and blood oozes out,

but you don’t see as I stand before you

blood dripping down my body.

Soon the skin on my back will be covered

with the thick rigid scar tissue

and there will be no more unbroken skin

for your whip to land.

I will disappear,

parcels of my flesh will fall away,

my bones will chip away to dust,

my beating heart all that is left,

until you pluck it out of my chest,

throw it on the ground,

pierce it with your pitchfork

and leave it to rot.

Tagged: Month of poetry, poem