ScarsMature

Etched on porcelain skin

Reminders of what they put her through

What could have been

 

Stains

Lines running down her cheeks

Souvenirs of tears cried

The rain that fell for weeks

 

Stiches

Holding together the pieces

Tales of all those times,

Of the torture that never ceases

 

Darkness

Lurking around every corner

Searching for a finished life

She's willing to be a donor.

The End

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