Scars

Jason Slaughter

There is a boy carved into my knee,

He shouts when I stare. 

Surrounded by powder

And separated hairs,

He is trapped.

Not the first,

To grow from the joint.

Some red,

Exposed for hours, 

Wailing in contagious pools.

Others pink

And expressionless- until touched-

Releasing one thousand curses. 

Eventually all go black,

And mute

Sealed into their smooth caskets. 

END