Scars
Scars in our flesh, are the maps of our soul; we carve them in deep, for the price of their toll.
The rise of the ridge, that protrude through the skin; is a reminder of life, and how it has been.
You can follow their route, to where they began; the more jagged the path, the harder you ran.
They fade over time, but remind us of pain; we open them up, and watch it all drain.
We see it all fl...ow, as it runs out the crease; we roll our eyes back, and wait for the peace.
The pain is still there, when you open your eyes; you suffer in silence, with your trembling cries.
The old ones are closed, as they heal and itch; the new ones still ooze, and hurt like a bitch.
We search for a way, to release the pain; I wonder if next time, I go straight for the vein?
Some scars that we have, are hidden inside; from the damage we’ve done, when we wished we had died.
We wear our scars well, for those we have earned; seared in our souls, is where they’ve been burned.
By Ron Lee
Scars in our flesh, are the maps of our soul; we carve them in deep, for the price of their toll.
The rise of the ridge, that protrude through the skin; is a reminder of life, and how it has been.
You can follow their route, to where they began; the more jagged the path, the harder you ran.
They fade over time, but remind us of pain; we open them up, and watch it all drain.
We see it all fl...ow, as it runs out the crease; we roll our eyes back, and wait for the peace.
The pain is still there, when you open your eyes; you suffer in silence, with your trembling cries.
The old ones are closed, as they heal and itch; the new ones still ooze, and hurt like a bitch.
We search for a way, to release the pain; I wonder if next time, I go straight for the vein?
Some scars that we have, are hidden inside; from the damage we’ve done, when we wished we had died.
We wear our scars well, for those we have earned; seared in our souls, is where they’ve been burned.
By Ron Lee
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