She could look on her arm and see 1,000 memories
She could hear 1,000 people crying
She could hear 1,000 people just like her dying
In each nasty pink scar, an entire world opened up
Ones she hated to remember, yet were clear as day
Criss Cross, the crossroads of her life
The one she tried so hard to throw away so many times
The sacrifices each mark cost, the memories burning bright
Like the mythological phoenix, every time she swore to forget
She had but to look down and see them again burning bright
Angry marks that wanted to swell again
Marks that caused her fingers to twitch anxiously
And her head to spin violently
Brushing them softly with her fingertips
Each bump a bump on the road of life, an obstacle she had overcome
With so many stories there on her arm
She couldn't remember
Which line was the first
Or why she put it there
1,000 stories, each with untold
Beginnings.