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battle scars

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Drip drop,
Splish splash,
Here come the
Tears.
Now out comes the
Blade,
Time to end this
Pain.

You call me
Emo,
You call me
Goth,
Yet you do not know
Me.
You do not know my pain, my
Life.
And you shall never
Understand.

I do not cut to
Die,
I cut to feel something,
Anything.
I cut to know I'm
Alive.

I keep it all
Inside,
Keep it tucked
Away,
Just so you don't get
Hurt.

All I want is
Answers,
Answers to my thousands of
Questions.

Why did daddy have to
Die?
Why does mommy want to
Die?
How did this depression get passed to
Me?Why did mother have to
Leave?
Now I have had undeserved
Beatings.

Now as I sit here in the Past waiting for my time to join
Father in that happy, peaceful place called
Heaven,
I can't help but to wonder,
Shall I ever be
Loved?
Will I ever be good
Enough?
So you may call me
Emo,
You may even call me
Goth,
And it just might be true,
But you shall never see
Me,
Not for who I
Am.

You will never understand my
Scars,
My opened and fresh
Wounds,
For these are my scars of
War.
I shall forever treasure them,
For they are my
Battle scars.



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