Can’t Be Healed by Whiskey

The wails resounding in my mind

are etched deeply in my soul

buried deeper than scars on skin

enduring craters impressed on heart.

Mind scars hidden with scarves

marking dusty paths of

serpentine streets of the past.

I tear chunks of my layers

to erase the wounds

scar tissue is dying forlorn

but memory lives forever.

Crushed ice blisters

can’t be healed by whiskey

but I hide my scars in stars

where they are unseen

in blackest night.