I say I’m abused,
And someone glares at me like I’m deranged,
I say I’m abused,
And someone tries to look for my scars,
I say I’m abused,
But no one looks me right into my dolor eyes and suppresses the river that’s trying to break through.

They come and go,
But some are rather unique,
Some come -leave haunting images and then go,
But they all have something in common,
They all come,
But, they never stay.

When someone searches for my scars,
With my clothes,
Or without,
With love,
Or without,
I just want those two prying eyes to search deeper,
Search in me,
Not just search places on me that they can fit.  

My form of abuse is internal,
My form of abuse does involve blood,
But of my spurting veins,
My form of abuse does involve tears,
But of my crying heart,
My form of abuse does involve scars,
But of my damaged soul.

So now I tell you,
If there’s anything you’re looking for every night,
The quest you’re never tired of,
It’s not all over me,
It’s hidden deep within me.