Mar 15
These scattered white lines, a map of yesterday's wars,
Etched upon my skin, no longer hidden behind my closed doors.
Each ridge and furrow, a humiliating story I'd rather not tell,
A haunting echo, a pitiful spell.
Drawn in paradox with careless precision,
They mark the moments when darkness stole my decision.
I try to forget, to bury my pain deep down,
But these constant reminders leave me feeling forever uncrowned.
They whisper of battles fought, and lessons learned in vain,
A constant shadow, of the relentless, throbbing pains.
Oh, how I wish to erase them, to start fresh and clean,
But these scars, they linger, a humiliating past forever seen.