Those scars,
On my heart,
On my soul,
Are so deep,
They tend to be breathing.
They once bled,
For someone whom I don't know,
They have healed,
But the flow has dried,
Sometimes proving me, I am dead.
But those scars remind me of things,
The things which I wanted to forget,
But I can't,
They are so deep,
They are the ones which still make me weep,
Or sometimes even a lights up a small smile.
Yes I am proud of my scars,
Not only within,
But on the dead skin which I own,
When the steel had kissed my blood that day,
The floor got stained,
My fingers red,
But my soul it filled with pleasure instead,
'Cause, baby now pain is the new pleasure.
