Monday, January 29, 2024

Black

 


The years on my face, they made a map,
And you wonder why I’m always black.

You never asked what I’ve seen,
For the scars, they told you where I’d been.

Stories, they pour from my eyes,
Estuaries of black, on my chin they die.

Salvaged my soul, but the mirror it cracked,
And you wonder why I’m always black.

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