My arms are scarred,
with a million burns.
Showing each weakness,
Not wanting the world to see,
So I cover up my ugliness,
My mistakes,
My sins.
I'm not very strong,
But people say I am.
Those people don't know what goes on when I'm alone,
When I have a lighter in my hand,
When I'm crying,
When I feel I can't hold on any longer,
When I take a piece of metal and place it on my skin.
I wish my arm would heal but I continue to burn anyways.
Not caring in the moment,
But it's a moment I soon regret.
For each burn,
Drop of blood from my arm,
Is a cruel reminder of each time I've fallen in...
And out of love.

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