Blemish

I can’t help but pick at engraved, webbed scars and relive old wounds,

memories diving deep until they drown.

Love is a narcissistic blemish,

a house of mirrors,

a reflection distorted by enamored perception.

I never understood boundaries 

until I became entangled, ensnared, entrapped 

within your borders.

Love is a deviously inscribed decoy 

that deludes and deceives, 

lowering your immunity,

intensifying vulnerability.

Until you’re blinded 

and unscathed by the numbness of the pain.