I have these little marks that call my arm home.
They sit there alone, although more to come.
They stay confided within the safety of my sleeves.
Never wanting to be seen,
but always being questioned.
Both arms and wrists are covered.
There is barely any room to finish creating the mural.
A mural full of pain.
A mural made by emotion.
A mural designed by a maniac.
Through all the heartaches, pains, and strife,
Cuts create a mural of my life.
