One pseudo-scar have I
A man made tat’ won’t do.
Mine’s a mobile looking thing
rigged like an Egyptian ship
plying the Nile of my forearm.
My scar is white as God’s impression.
It popped up suddenly
and, like God, will never go away.
To those who pay for tattoos
I flash mine proudly,
whispering, it was free.
A psuedo-scar’s a star
you get for aging.
Who can sport a …
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