there were once scars on these wrists,
spaces even, waiting for other scars to align the existing ones.

and then they were gone.
washed over the wave of being an adult and a cloud of illusion willing ones self to be alright..."alright".

there were no scars on my wrist
or my thighs
or my ribs
but it still felt like there was a rip tearing apart my mind,
no matter how clean my vessel was my soul was still in a war.