Map Of Scars

By Dhruv Tangri

The cruelest form of torture is when you show hope and snatch it away,

It leaves a man scarred enough to be scared of hoping for something again.

Such is the tale of a man who hoped too much,

Now lies lifeless on an oaken bed with blue silken blankets, 

His life was nothing but a map of scars,

Recalling dreadful memories from one cut to another.

Every night he dreamt of being worthwhile but rarely followed through,

Another city was carved in his map of scars which he kept hidden too. 

Jackets worn to keep eyes away,

Blood-soaked bedsheets like spilled wine,

His thoughts rush faster than the sands of time,

Unholy curse drawing him closer to another city on his map of scars this time.

By Dhruv Tangri