wounds

Life's strange twists and turns,
The cigarette burn
Which once your raging heart
Singed onto your hand
Is now cold and dried.

The tired fingernails scratch
the wound to draw blood.
Memories flood like a deluge
Of pouring pain and misty-morning-like sounds
which whisper that you once had love.

This is all that remain
As you sip your cup of tea
And think of thoughts
Those now seem like ancient myths and tales
When all fails You keep going back
To scratch, to draw blood.
The flood begins again.