A Slice of Beauty
I walk the halls of closed doors, memories are locked away.
Memories that don't need to be remembered.
But I always seem to find myself roaming these halls,
these very halls of the forgotten memories.
Each door left a mark, a mark that lay upon my skin like a tattoo.
Never to come off, never to be forgotten.
This simple past haunts me, like a nightmare that never ends.
These marks are the scars of my past.
A simple strip of skin that shall never lay flat.
For it has been sliced with the blade of the devil.
The demons that live within us,
taunt us and tell us to ruin the beautiful skin we wear.
For they want us to look like them.
So why do they attack us?
Why do they overtake our body, and make new doors for us to lock.
New scars for us to hide, and new memories for us to be scared of.
For we have done nothing wrong.
They make us feel like this is us doing this,
but this is the work of our demons within.
No one should bleed the blood of the innocent,
no one should feel the loneliness of the cold-hearted demon inside.
Don't give into the demon's demands, for thy work for the devil.
Don't let them take you down under, for your life's worth living,
and your soul is meant to keep.
Not to sell to the demon, that wants your beautiful skin.
For every slice you make, one of his scars disappear.
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