There's an evil, selfish part of me
that doesn't want my scars to fade.
It's that part of me that smiles
when it sees the 'progress' I've made.

It lives in the back of my mind
where my conscience goes to cry.
There are too many spiders to see
it's where my monsters go to die.

And that dark place, however
may just be the reason that I'm alive.
It told me the scars were beautiful
when I thought I wouldn't survive.

It also told me,
that I'd look pretty in red.
That as the blood poured down my arm,
It said I'd look much better dead.