Straight Lines

Straight lines litter my body,
pain captured in a single moment
which radiates like a flare.
They point and they ask but
who'll care. Who asked?

Straight lines decorate my arms,
broken shards of trust that
ripped into my flesh.
I can't help what I did;
they didn't help when I did.

Straight lines flood my thighs
amidst the words carved red.
That intimacy reserved for
the nurse who stitched me up,
and the boy who stole my pride.

Straight lines ironically drawn
in a battle of worlds. Between my
straight self lies my true self-
the man I could never be and
the same love I tried to have.

Straight lines are the death I
never got to. Vertical scars ripped
open but the blood stopped
before I was dead. In pursuit
of a way out.

© Charlie 2013