Scars

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I look at my arms and see the scars.
I try to remember why I took the blade to my skin but the memories are to far.
Sorrow takes it's course and the blood trickles down my arm.
I stare at its crimson color and become mesmerized by its charm.
In a few weeks it will become a new scar, blending in with the others and look the same.
Those I love ask why I cut, I just blame it on my past but I am the only one to blame.





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