Scars

A broken heart lives with mental and physical scars... why bother carrying on?

The scars still remain. The scars of a tortured past. I endured days on end of being trapped in a world without light. All I need is the illumination. But how can anything warm linger here, now... without her?

I was never good enough for her. That bitch’s name, engraved on my arm, burns bitter sin each day. Day after day.

Failure. The word burdens me with every breath I take; the breath I pray to God will stop. The same dull rhythm; in and out, in and out. My breath is contained in the hum of the air; reviving, surviving... depriving.

So now, as I tie this noose, I hope it is better than the knife. The scars still remain.