My breast,
Has a scar,
and I don't know the real lie I've told to so many,
To be Honest,
with myself,
I barely want to know more then the lies I've told
on how I've gotten it,
but I learned that,
boys will hurt you,
and sometimes those things will never leave,
and that they may be,
the only mark you see,
different from the ones on my arms,
and there comes a time in your life,
where you're not scared,
but then you're scared of everything,
you just have to hope for a better tomorrow,
because everything stay with you,
physically,
and mentally,

and her scars healed,
and her wrists mimicked,
*the treebark,

He had a musical talent others strive to have,
I only wanted to hear him,

hear each finger as they touched the strings,
of his left handed base,

get to sit there and listen to him play,
get to hear him play,

get to maybe learn how to play myself,
or just fool around,

perks of being a lefty too,
but I haven't gotten to hear him play,

he for the time being lives far away,
and when miles don't separate us,

the time will,
the time and effort we can put in to see each other,

to hear each other,
waiting for one another will become a painful task,

every summer day will be hard to last because we just,
will eventually get tired,

the same old waiting game,
gets old fast and quick,

and if I remember correctly the last time we got to be together,
my friend felt the decency to kick,

his sack,
and the fact,

even though I repeatedly asked,
what the hell happened,

he nor she nor anyone really,
told me why,

but he told me every reason he thought could of been why,
and I know he didn't lie when he said he didn't know,

I heard him tell me everything he did know,
and that was more then enough for me to know,

how I wanted to hear him play his base,
and listen to him as I played with his hair,

I wanted him to hold me close,
like its too close for comfort,

the sweet whispers sound like screams,
but nothing's out of a bad dream,

this dream is good and real,
and you can hear and feel everything like you're meant to,

I wanted him to leave his mark,
so i'll never forget where he's been,

so it be easier to remember what he has said,
when he treats me with a respect and grace i've never been given,

and even if he does love someone else,
and I can't love him anymore than puppy love,

would I stop caring?
why would I?

even when romance wasn't on the table,
we were friends,

I wanna hear the echoes and repeats playing sound tracks of friends,
because I know I can't,

have him,
and that I dont even deserve him,

but I still want to hear him play,
his left handed base,

and everyday,
I still miss him,

and hope,
**to hear him play.