Let’s talk about the bruises and bumps. The cuts and the digs. Let’s talk about the scars.
Bloody knees and scraped arms come by easy. Cuts to the soul are harder to find. Dig a little deeper child, find the rough, dry spots.
Slide your fingers along the lines. Revel in the stories of darkness that formed canyons in the mind. Dig a little deeper dear.
Words can’t bleed but they can cut straight to the quick. Let’s count all the marks, the small pocks that form this crater.
Foundations of self hate, built so deeply into your form, they manifest through every cracking smile.
Cry yourself to sleep at night, cradling those cuts close to your heart. Wish for another chance, a fresh start.
Reset, refresh, bring it back to zero. Find a center away from the cliffs that have formed.
Jagged edges force your saviors away.
How often do you stare off into night, counting the ways?
To know is to know the scars. To walk the path is to travel among broken glass.
Bumps and bruises will heal, scars will forever be etched. Forming deep lines along the smooth surface of the mind.
They swallow you whole, consuming the being until there is no more.
Stare into the night and wander.
How many ways there are.