In your face, the scars of men reside

Souls are bartered for and hearts shoplifted,

a tiny green chunk of malachite

takes their place, a tinge of hope

in the polish that reflects white streaks

like memories, like tiny piercing darts

Of light, what brought it on that frigid night?

The weight you carried became too much

I was the song you’d never hear again

the one you’d heard too much,

the reliable breakdown

which soon led to ours,

you need novel melodies and new bars,

to scratch the itch you can’t find.

And now your face pivots,

I see the scars of women,

Makeup covering the blush

Of their cheeks, their scent a vicious trap

That slays the weak beneath their feet

They take their father’s knife

silently in their back. It makes

them sorry for holding the clock’s hand still.