Scarred

Scarred from head to toe like a tree marked by knives, Fires, or stones.

Yet a birthmark I have not known.

Did my former selves live a life of sedentary means, lost deep in twisting dark forests of time?

Did they hold to the peace that we all seek or live a life so short they could not

speak?

Forgo this query that I seek: I started mine with impending fear at

best.

When granted freedom, I progressed into a ravenous reckless

abandonment, tempting death’s hand, and its sweet release.

I see it as I was merely an afterthought new in soul, a replacement tool

unblemished and bold.