Scars can tell tales,
scars can tell stories,
if scars could show you pictures,
then my wrists would be movies.

This one was Dad,
the next one for Mom,
the noose burn on my neck,
thank my pedophile teacher.

Each stitch that I've got,
could fill up a page,
then my whole body,
would be a best-seller.

Look at my face,
with all of my marks,
don't dare look away,
I'm not ashamed.

At what cost life?
at what cost living?
something you'll never know,
something I know all too well.

Heaven's refused me,
hell doesn't want me,
stuck on this planet,
is this perdition?

What sin did I commit in an earlier life?
Who thought that this test could be passed?
You speak of suicide as a mortal sin,
it's only another on my long, long list.

Do I blaim you?
or do I blaim the world,
more psychobabble talk,
for ones who walk the line.

For those who live in darkness,
seeing is understanding,
no words are ever needed,
they've been there.

10/02/2004

Posted on 10/03/2004
Copyright © 2024 Jersey D Gibson