SKIN

ON THE SKIN
Scars tell stories
that we prefer to keep silent.
Forgetfulness being the virtue of time,
my eyes are witnesses of your pain.
Tired bodies,
empty souls,
parade,
naked.
Translucent in the faces,
hangs by a thread.
Attracted by gravity,
it draws marks that give us away.
Everything is there,
in that book that does not lie.
It exists to feel,
feels to exist!