A Functional Tumor

The visage crumbled, but ignore the wreckage
It’s worth was loaned
As with mange brought by the flea
As with stares brought by the gangly

We’re all marked by the path of our births
As with mange brought by the flea
Like the call of the unclean, we’ve been pulled
And the only direction is down

The reek of our kin betrays the stain we’ve hid
I’m the hold
I’m a mark, a lock
I wouldn’t have lost my breath for lack of a cause

Good God, I couldn’t break free in time from the grasps of stragglers
Grounded and shamed, dragged kicking back through the dirt
We’re all marked
Always