Scars

Look at these scars.
    Look at what they mean.
  They may mean everything about me.
  They may mean nothing at all.
I am not sure.

Look at these scars.
   Now back at your own scars.
  Aren't they beautiful?
  They must be beautiful.
Somehow, they are not. Not at these times.
Who the hell is sure?

Look at these scars,
   so ruthlessly done,
   savage memories of broken dreams,
   of dead illusions.
  What does it mean to have scars?
The pain is still here,
Why am I not sure of anything?

Look at these scars.
  They say I've suffered.
  They say everything still aches.
Look at them, tell me. Why did I hurt myself
in such way?
  Why nobody is sure?

The scars. Do they mean pleasure?
  Suffering?
 What do they mean. I see my scarred skin
 and I don't see anything.
Just vile thoughts running,
  pushing me to an edge.

Scars, these scars.
  My charred being is not far
from becoming a giant
pile of fucking ashes.
  Consumed. There's no blood, there's no blood.

There won't be any blood.
These scars are from blood spilt within.