Black and red,
This pain begins to spread.
Now red,
My black shirt ripped to shreds.
Now blue, black, and red,
As my face hits the bed.
Now black,
How I’d love to be dead.
I can sew my shirt back with thread.
I can bleach back the sheets on my bed.
But I can’t remove the scars in my head.
Surgery could make my face something I don’t dread.
But I can’t remove the scars from inside my head.
Though not sure I’d want to.
My scars are from the life I’ve led.
No happy memories to be there instead.
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