In the shimmer
Of the pale moonlight,
I slowly run my fingers
Over my body,
Tracing gently
Over my scars…
How exotic they look,
These markings
On my skin
That were not born
At the same time as me…
Yet they tell a tale
Of struggle and despair
Far more eloquently
Than any story
I could narrate…
Each cut,
Each drop of blood,
Every raised blemish
That marks my skin..
Is like a work of art…
So tragic…
~S~
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