Scars

Slice the blade through my arm and watch the blood flow freely

Releasing the hurt through my veins painfully trying to be set free

When does the blood seep out enough to relieve the pain that scars leave?

Truth in the scars that mark my arm, the only truth that is me.

Should I cover them up, hide them so no one can see?

Or wear the marks of pain that defines all that is me?

You wonder what's wrong, how do I turn to this knife that sets me free?

It's the release of the pain, reminder of the scars that will always be apart of me.

You may not understand the reason the cuts so deep...

Each slice watching the hurt release the depth of the pain in this blood that bleeds.

It's internal anguish, pain, abuse trying to be set free.

But all I can do is slice it through the person I hate to be

Start at the tip, press it in don't release.

Until I'm marked with the scars of pain showing my disease.