Gas Lines

Earthquakes in my body run like gas lines across a nation
That nation is Me
Broken…
Corrupted,
With bloodstains dripping down the tapestry of my history
I’ve buried my soul in bomb holes  
Each one deeper than the regrets I curse myself for
Day after day…
And night after night…
I marvel at my success
Success at being Me
I do it so well it’s nauseating
The way I preen myself and then whip myself
While my fingers trace old scars and eyes gaze at new Ones still rosy and broken
Yet I keep waiting…
For growth?
For healing?
As if patience is the key to not boxing one’s self
As if one day I will wake with the morning and compare My beauty to that of the sunrise’s