She traces her scars every night in the dark,
And picks on the scabs from the wounds of her heart,
She likes the pain she says.
She wears her old scars like tattoos of tales,
Says she would rather be a melancholy song,
A twisted story, a poignant poetry
Than a flawless blank page,
Light but also empty.



Photographer unknown  
Poetry © Copyright 2017, Opinionated Head