Stretching My Imagination

Stretching My imagination, Across your lashes, Your eyes A pond. Perfection cries Hollowness. Our mistakes Bind us. These cold scars Across our wrists, Gripping Ropes of steel. Scales form Across our chests, Branding our skin Unclean. Scars don't wash With soap, They grow Stretch, Reminders of history Otherwise lost In fickle minds Pushing away, Anguish. Decomposed words, Forming a corpse, Our poetry An art Impersonating The private strain. Between these lines We draw Our secrets, Hidden from their gaze. As they interpret them, Call them pretty, They'll never find The truth. Disfigured Moments Never form A perfect circle.