Why is it that you
Think that there is
Something good
Underneath my skin
That there is something
Pure, hidden.
This is not a wound that
You can suture up
And put a bandaid over
Until it heals
This is a deformity
Born with ; to live with
Nothing you can
Do
Will possibly save my
Rotten soul
And if you took
A step back
And looked at it from
An outsiders perspective
You would notice that
I was right ; there is no wound
And that in fact
I am the deformity
The disease
Struck with it in the womb
And I
Am destined to take it
With me
To my
Tomb
-n.c
