Carrying them to my grave.
Like a sack of boulders,
On my weak, damaged bones.
My brain filled,
Over flowing with my past.
Why oh why, can’t you leave me alone.

My fingers run across my thigh,
Feeling the damage I’ve done.
The rough lines delicately scattered to and fro.
Each telling their own tale of how they appeared.
One containing memories,
Another made by pain.
In a way I feel at peace knowing their always there.
Never leaving,
Unlike everything else in life.

Scars are the words from within,
That we could not release.
Words are the feelings,
That need to be heard.

Your voice rang in my head,
As I looked death in the eyes.
“You will get through this”
“You are strong enough”
But death was already carrying me,
To my new home.

As my legs go numb,
And my lungs fill with liquid.
I feel at peace.
This recognizable feelings,
That reminds me I’m alive.
Even though in pain,
I am still here.
The bells in head,
Bashing from left to right,
Give me a sense of hope,
Even though it causes pain.
Then the darkness.
Where I relive my past.
And I’m back...