Poetry

Scrape

by

Dominae Cole

My mind caves in on itself,
As I try to hail a cab.
This wound has been festering.
Thought by now it would scab.

I`ve created a new frame of mind,
But it hangs crooked on the wall.
Everything looks like the opposite.
What was big, is now quite small.

I`m confusing my feelings for truth.
Can`t seem to keep them at bay.
Wish I`d just sort this mess,
And find a more honest way.

I have to quit picking,
Or else it will scar.
And then you`ll be there forever,
Not like you already are.