Me.

A poem about myself - not mentally, just physically.

Thin cracks of flesh scar
Sausages hang from woven mits
One hundred meters of depth clasp tightly
Covered slits and slices show
Torn steel stapled to pudgey dough
A knights templar cross shifts midspace
Pale indigo accented against blue striped black nylon covers
Noir fades into shadowing departures
Electric patterns dance on grayish pink
Oceans pitter patter nervously
Precussions vibrate to speech
Stained ivory blessed with mysty wheezing
Offset platinum juts out like wheat at harvest time
And a barraged abscess defects alongside brownish burned bark
This is me, this is who I am.