Scar after another, Up and down, inch by inch, side to side.
This one is for the vile, slimebag, whom touched me, here, here and here,
and pushed himself inside me.
This one is for my father, he went out, drinking, and using, while me and my sis and my mother stayed home, worried to death.
This one, right across the other two, this one is for myself, For allowing people to bring me down, push me around, Use and abuse me...
I do not regret cutting, although I regret all reasons why... If only I would have known then, that life happens, but it also goes on. I must say that my life has moved on from that, with one year since I was raped, and two years of sobriety for my dad, and as for myself, I have grown proud of me, for loving others, even when their hearts were to cold to love me, and loving myself. The scars don't go away, but upon my left four-arm, lie my past, where as in my heart, lies my future.