The cuts are the

spoils from war.

They decorate us

with meaning

and stories.

The scars that are left,

are memories

nearly forgotten.

Slowly fading as

time passes quickly

The pain washes away

many troubles,

keeping us alive in mind.

Though it is welcomed,

regret is left behind

pulling at our thoughts

as they blossom into

fragile flowers.

The blade is an assortment,

coming in different shapes

and sizes,

that each has a meaning

to the owner of

the blessed piece of metal.

The masks we wear

give out illusions

to all who see us.

They become natural

as if we have been doing it

our whole lives.

The lies come easily,

as if it were in waiting

all along for that single

moment where it can

tear out of its captivity

and be free.

The tears that fall freely,

are silently kept

for the fear of being found.

They roll away, untouched

grabbing sadness as they try

to hold on to a piece of

flesh.

Not all want to die,

yet,

the release is the same code.

Some want to be found

while they stay lost.

Not noticed, slowly

disappearing

into

the

sha

do

w

s