Wound Purified

Finding beauty in wounds
in wounds of shame,
the shame in guilt.

From yellow paste puss
to brown, cracked scars.
To see beyond
disgust.

The glimmer,
the pure,
the pain
of stretching lips
smiling in salt.

Tight and dry
green flecks of dirt
on the very tips
of kettle chips
sleeping beneath
my fingers.

Shiver over red
wrinkled, tugged lines
hide in shades
of grey

Dripping slowly,
oozing down
to the sea of
scorched flesh,
waiting to be
Purified.

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