Scars

scars, which were once naked, festering wounds,
unseen to the eye,
are now the visible, blatant declaration
of my cynicism towards that fickle,
less than savory woman that is Venus,
goddess of love.

and terrible temptress that she is,
she dangles the hope of new love before me.
in response, I run,
chased by my madness,
which nips at my heels like a deranged dog that
salivates and foams at the mouth,
and whose eyes are glazed with the delight of the chase.
I run.

forever running as a wind of Venus’s making
whips and stings and rips open those grotesque welts
of barely healed heart,
so that they bleed afresh at unguarded moments
and refuse to remain those faded reminders of pain
so aptly named scars.