My scars don't look like Anyone else's- They're more careful, Organized, precise and Exact. Not light, but Never deep enough Never deep enough Never deep enough Never deep enough.
People always ask why I do such pretty patterns: Because this is the only thing in life That I can really control Control Control,
And I find it so beautiful- Though, not so much tragic.
My scars are not chaotic like a Car-wreck, They are consistent like a Coma- Proof that I was awake The whole time I was sleeping, And I could feel everything Even though I could tell no one. No one.
That this Unconscious obsessive compulsion Demands order Order Order, it Insists by instinct, An intricate simplicity.
Still, I will 'ever envy Those stitched gashes, once Gushing Gushing Gushing with surrender and Serenity... Each raised and rough coarse collagen fiber To form a white flag Forever etched in flesh; To tell the world They, were a slave to freedom-