Scar Tissue

As I touch this wound
the ice is thin
hasn't been cold enough
for long enough


molten devour
and the web of mind
my lips caress the heart
and my tongue lingers half dead
for pleasures that ache
beyond any severe natural diaster
fallen mountain


so to return
this sensationless wound
wielded like an average sharp sword
we all must get by
you mustn't blame me
time
I love you.


In the roman days
you'd be dead
on your knees
before me
sucking life dry


wrestling is just a game today
there are no more gladiators
who fight hell like me
and wish it so
you cannot believe
in this pitch black tent
behold the third of stars
my opaque hand brings back to my sight
from this polluted light
in a quaint archaic understanding
of ingrained mythology
in secrecy an uncanny logicality
to fight for me.