Everyone has scars
But you're showing me yours.
The deep, red cuts
Like tears on your arms.
Each small line
Is something so big.
Too big.
Maybe not to me, but to you,
Isn't it?
I wouldn't know.
My only scars being from
A scrap, fall, or something more raw.
Something more raw.
Family, friends, lovers, simply reality
Each so beautiful,
But in the end those are the ones.
The ones that draw the most blood.
Those are the ones.
The ones that remind us.  
They stay on your arm,
Your own personal lifeline.
Who knew a razor
Would keep you going?
Slipping on your feet,
But never truely falling.