I look down at the scars at my wrist.
My fingers trace the shapes I used to carve into my skin.
The broken hearts, stars, numbers, words, and phrases.
They are almost completely healed.
Almost invisible.
No one can notice them with out having to look hard.
Look hard? No one will.
No one wants to know the story of a broken girl.
Of a girl with no meaning in life.
No one will look hard at these scars.
These scars are almost healed.
It's a fight between evil and good everyday.
A fight I want to give in to..
I want to renew my battle scars.
Keep them fresh for those who care enough to see.
No.
I won't give in.
These scars are almost healed, nearly invisible.
You can barely see the shapes, numbers, words, and phrases.
Well, I hope they go away.
Because everytime I even think of them they bring fear.
Misery.
Despair.
Hopelessnes...
My scars will heal.
Maybe more scars will apear before those disapear.
