When I look down at my hand I start to giggle. I take my finger and run it against the old scars and the new. Tracing the paths of the crosses,the x's and the stars. Imprinted and never washed away. They remind me of the pas and tell me that the pain was there. It's a symbol so that I don't forget for the Brief moments when I'm happy doesn't cancel out the hopeless times when I thought I'd never be able to recover. The pain and stress clogged in my blood. When it touches my skin cutting the layers it's all released. A huge bundle that has been released through the slits. It makes me happy when I look at the blood trickling through my skin. Makes everything seem alright. Makes me forget the mental pain and concentrate on the pain in my arm. I know where it hurts and I know why it hurts because I cut it. I caused the pain. I know the main source It's me. I'm doing it to myself not anyone else. And that makes me happy. Because if I had to have pain inflicted on myself I rather have me do it. These scars remind me that the past is real. and the truth is that you'll never be able to hide from your past no matter how hard you try to forget it'll always be there following you like your shadow.
