+Trembling Fingers...+

There are scars that sing their stories
Worn proudly as reminders of life
Of what we've survived
And others that hide under folds of clothing
Trying to conceal their pale faces
Begging to not have a reason to exist
Then are those that can never be shown
Only explained in the lore of subsistence
Scars that don't fade, but grow
As the knife is plunged into old wounds
And drug along the scarred veins—
That have seen too much anesthetic
Long ago exhausted of their blood supply
But these scars don't need blood to feel pain
Their hurt never diminishes, it is constant—
Unyielding, unforgettable
The kind that makes your breath stick to your throat
In sobs of anguish
Wondering where you went wrong
They are the most prominent of all scars
They shape our life, and the choices we make
They determine whether our tears run in streams
Or torrents of regret
They tell you where you are comfortable
And where you must walk a careful line
To avoid those holding the knife at the ready
And instead follow the path to those
That have allowed it to clatter to the floor
So often already coated
In not only your blood, but theirs
And with shaking hands
They plead for clemency