i always thought scars were physical—
not internal,
until you proved me wrong.
it took me so long to realise
that i’m not just bleeding on the outside
but on the inside too.

i wish you could feel the pain i endured—
with no one there to rescue you,
all alone in a deep hole,
a loophole of despair,
waiting to be saved,
but no one ever comes.

i wish you had scars like mine,
etched both inside and out.
but praying for your pain
won’t bring me joy or peace.
not anymore.

perhaps your pain
was never mine to wish for—
but maybe
your lack of existence
is.