Poetry By A Misfit Puzzle Piece.

Tendencies II

I've bruised myself again,

This mark I do loathe,

A scar of crimson floods,

Comes painting at my skin.

I wish I could forget,

I feel it slowly weighing in,

This weight in my chest,

Does it pull at my posture?

I beg you not confront me,

I couldn't bear honesty,

I'm no one to speak of my misery,

I'm no one in mind.