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-

I am only a slave
To *myself.

We all crave
Symmetry
Balance
and
Purity
In this world so
Twisted
Sullied
and
Chaotic

It hurts when we hold hands
I can feel the coldness in your stem
It's the source of your emotionless pattern
Your leafs pulled from past handlers
Your thorns ***** me like the ***** you called me
Hoping I'll let go
But I only tighten my grip
Even if I have to endure the pain
Afraid of losing your scent
The sweet smell of precious nectar  
I've memorized it
The feel of your petals
The beauty in your color
I douse you in love to keep you alive
I want to fuel you like the sun
I want to be the reason you bloom in spring
But the more I invest, the quicker you wilt
You dying in my hands