Look at these scars,
upon my wrists,
bloody and tattered,
with tightly clenched fists.
These aren't scars of pain,
nor were they given,
but of anger inside,
that should have been ridden.
These scars run deep,
straight down to the vein,
can't feel the anger-
no more pain.
They remind me of the memories
that have sincelong been forgotten,
of people that have hurt me,
but are now in graves and rotted.
More tears slide down
from theses hallowed out eyes,
Yet still no one can hear,
my saddening cries.
