Indie Scribe Magazine February 2015 | Page 43

Where once they offered safety

they proscribe reality.

I'd like to raise my fisted hand

and use the key within.

Chastened by this cleansing blade

I find release in pain.

The scars adorn my living flesh

as payment for my sin.

But soon the turmoil does return

and I must cut again.

I'll never raise my fisted hand

and use the key within.