Cloth

A cloth to veil these vermin tears,
to hide away from downcast humanity,
this cloth that clots the crimsom cut heart.
If there was a prideful remedy within,
this cloth would unravel peacefully,
hurt no longer clutching coals of listless mutilation.
Bandaged for fluttering seconds,
butterfly scratching loudly from the cocoon,
rebirth ripped dead from the billowing snow.
Gashed in violet violence threatened,
by vindictive friends and snickering shadows,
the cloth can only bind what is permenently prevalent.
Satured on unfolding layers of wounds,
stripping at the strewn nerves of damages,
my cloth subsides the pain of being unwanted.