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Pockmarks

My face is
pockmarked
with breaking dreams, hope
oozing
away like yellow-red pus;
the body
haemorrhages
desires to the ceaseless
illness of survival.

But the blood
festers
within,
raging
impassionedly, impotently until it
bursts
through,
ebbs,
clots
and
dries
among feeding flies.

Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology, ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.
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