I don't know if time really heals,
but the tears I bled will always be scarred upon my skin,
each beholding dark secrets of pain.
I look back, screaming down memory lane,
knowing that the first cut will be the first time I feel again.
No one had noticed I wasn't the same me,
I fought back my demons to release in my writing,
hoping that my internal fears did not turn into
external scars upon my skin.
I can't find my injunction any more,
I have lost my deep red friend who never let me down
and always saves me just in time,
but one cut is all it takes to leave a scar,
and then where does it stop?
I still run the risk of everyone finding out,
unless I stay covered up until the scars are all gone.
They say you will never understand an acquired fear of an addict,
until you see inside the eyes of one and walk inside their shoes.
Here I am,
looking back,
screaming down memory lane,
knowing that my first cut won't be the last,
but I sure will feel again.
