Purple brand

my flesh is ordinary,though my mental
skeleton is adorned with scales and poisons
the surface of a mirror I so loathe
to face in a fluorescent corner

locked up fat,contained meat,
branded breasts that bear
purple bruises beneath lace and gilded wires
of curved dictatorship

a "modern armor",that's what it should be called-
it keeps you safe from greedy eyes
and black eyes and brutal eyes
and all the eyes that harm,including yours

if my soul is a sheet,then it's caught
between a wall of decaying constrictions
and a mental road with blurred origins,
with twisted seams,heading towards an abyss

I can't,though I must and I would
if I could,but these wounds are concealed
and at times I believe I'm alone in seeing
the spreading disease and open lungs

no tears to shed for this silent violence,
no clothes to spare for a bonfire of release
in the middle of nowhere,
no pinkish indents to call "sweet dreams"

we all wear the mark of our time
and mine is an almost voluntary
act of torture