Living in the shadow of our scars.
These pasts of ours define
who we are.
Clinging to the memories that cut
so deep
Trying to survive in a world that makes
us weak
Letting the tears fall
Because our eyes ache for it
This is the roughest part of us
The things left unpolished
Every part that remains unclean
Like this wrist
Or that so-called victim
Our tradgies others classify
with scales that tell them how to pity us
And we, well
we're just trying to survive.


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