Sure Thing

October 7, 2011
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The scars on my wrist

Remind me of a place

A place that I ran away to

With the most furious of haste



The scars on my arms

Will tell you a story

Of a young, intelligent fool

Who sought romantic glory



Needed not at all

Is an explanation

The scars on my legs

Will tell you of my celebration



I am so impressionable

Yet so misunderstood

I would let you feel the scars

If you even could



Of my evils, something is there to sing

My former self being taken under its wing

The scars that run along my being

Is the damage left from a sure thing





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