Scars

Life.

What is life to me?

The silent screams of loneliness

which follow with catastrophe,

get swallowed up by cheap relief,

and washed down with disaster.

A short escape from long-lived sorrows.

Those dreams that we’ll forget tomorrow.

Nothing in this life is borrowed

without having to pay the fees.

And so, I’ve found that emptiness

often tends to co-exist

with soulful, everlasting bliss

when comfort leads to

dreams so hollow.

A soul to feed and

a body to hold us;

In this tortured life, we each get one.

So, if you feel your joy is gone,

ask yourself where yours has been-

Has it been filled with nourishment?

Or destroyed by filth and sin?

And just how far

can you stretch your skin

before it snaps and crawls away?

What secrets do you hold within?

How does one become whole again?

Our scars reveal a twisted tale-

A tally kept of times we’ve failed,

a record of the tears we’ve shed

and lived to tell another.

Mine stretch across and deep within,

from mind, to soul, to fragile skin,

the blood and bones held loose within,

my sacrifices and my sins,

and those who’ve left me broken.

I’ve stitched these wounds

with needle and thread,

with blood and guts,

with paper and pen,

all on my own

and with help from men-

But every time they’ve sewn me up,

my blood and bones

and needles and thread

end up on the floor with my regrets

without a single broom in sight.

So, with this tragic tale of mine,

if there is one thing to keep in mind,

remember that with every scar

comes a lesson just as deep-

Life is not a fairytale.

Your hopes and dreams can’t save you.

Words mean nothing on their own.

Every action holds a meaning,

and your thoughts create your problems.