October 24, 2011

Crossing Lines

The sharp barbs extend, pointing - cutting into the skin of recognition with pokes and prods, suffocating with scars that fold the skin layer upon layer.

Wounds  
hiding the hurt

The gut twists, as barbed wire - a cruel notion of love to which the age-old line of distinction is blurred by rust, encrusted deep.

Corroding  
line with time

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