I've surrounded myself with people who have scars on their forearms, death in their past, and pills fading in their blood streams. I never knew about these when I met them, it's just some kind of magnet I have to them. The man I fell in love with has them on his arms, and when he looks at mine, he frowns at me with sorrow written on his face like a book. He promises me to let these fade and leave my skin alone. But how can I do that when I know what each and every last one of them represent. Each line is a different memory of my past. Bad, horrible, and even worse than one could imagine. Some are just from when I was numb and wanted to feel something. I've learned that it doesn't help, but I've become friends with the feeling of hurting myself. And it's not always with a cool metal object in my hands. It's sometimes not mutilating my body. Sometimes, it's simply just letting my mind go to the worst places. The places that leave me crippled on the ground shaking. If you could see inside my mind, you'd wonder what the living **** was wrong with me. The answer? I don't even know.