By The Hour

They were soft sells those days
an ease of look, a tilt of mind,
bleached view not rose tinted
and every touch a hand wash.

Time has left its mark
the circles of ID play over parchment
that used to be skin,

now i am covered,
a map of embraces that pressed too hard,
bruised, rosy apple in colour

User abuser, self harmer heart
i play at coveting but am master of my art

written 10.10.14

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