Drip Drop

Scars

There are scissors in my hand

Because that's what the demons command

So I listen

And the scissors glisten

The scissors that I hold

Have many stories that mustn't be told

I count one, two, three, four

But there are so much more

My thighs are bruised and sore

But it's something I've learned to ignore

Over time I've become dead inside

But it's something that I've learned to hide