What If there were no scars

I look at my fingers and find them clear, in contrast to my brain which is in shambles

It has dark edges and angles, dingy corners and tangles

There is no evidence of art on my wrist,

No manifestation of thoughts, neither the story nor the gist

I take the sharp end of the tool and get carving,

The darkness in me never starving.

Nobody can see it, nobody has a care

Because the scares aren't there.