Poetry

Residue

You eased the needle through me

Slid it in, out, in, out

As though I were to be woven.

You branded me with holes,

Now I wear them pretty moles.

Questions asked, fears alleviated

In those bare spaces you created.

Faded marks, now jaded memories,

Grown dim, feeble, flickering –

Never can they be extinguished.

Better to be torn and taped

Than to be broken and replaced.

WordPress Daily Prompt : Puncture

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