The Scars On My Arm
It’s had to explain why you’d cut yourself.
Self-inflicted pain, like suicide
is had to register on the spectrum
of human understanding.
To you, the scars act as a reminder
an epitaph to a part of you long forgotten,
victim to the constant battle between
life and existence,
the mind versus the heart.
The scars are the boundaries
between love and hate.
Horcruxes to demons that torment your soul,
those you wish you to leave behind
but whisper in your ear
at the slightest whim of depression.
The scars on my arm
are a reminder of what I’ve overcome.
A testament to the fact I’m still here…