I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
And my scars remind me that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel…
One, two, three, on my arms and hands I see
Ticking off the scars like the scratched tally marks on the wall
Five, six, seven, all scattered upon my frail body
Crimson blood constantly dripping, on the stained carpet it falls
Eight. Oh, remember this, my dearest mother?
The time you accused me and yelled at me for being a bother?
Shot off your hand, it’s all one big flash to me
And when I grew conscious I saw a nasty bruise, a purple mark so shiny
Nine. Look, father dear, the great fat shiner I acquired
When you fumed about your stupid job and took it out on yours truly
You were grouchy, you were enraged, you were plainly very tired
But apparently not tired enough to lay your hard clenched fists on me
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Many more. All self-inflicted.
Sweeter than yellow honey, but rancid like rotten meat
Wounds to numb me down, to prepare me for the horror instead
To help me keep a straight face as my family lashes on repeat
Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. On the brink of my soul.
From my siblings who condescend at me and sneer at my role
Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Too many to even count.
Thanks to my “real” friends who used and abandoned me as they flout
Dark circles on my face, I know lately I’ve been losing sleep
But who has time to rest when they have wounds so deep?
Escaping from reality, into horrid torturous nightmares
Wake up the next morning and into life you apathetically stare
Counting scars, near and far
Like morbid constellations, so pretty and yet oh-so dark
Colorful artworks, laced upon my pale sallow skin
But the cut of the sharp knife goes even deeper within
Counting scars, and sometimes they re-open
Painful, so painful, but I have to sew them close again
The needle and thread, they pass through and about
Keeping me intact, in one piece, or just at least for now
Counting scars, can anyone see me slowly break?
Can anyone tell from my eyes, can anyone see past the thick clothes?
Wounds on the outer, and on the inner, my soul quivers and quakes
My brain goes dysfunctional, my heart paralyzes, turns stone cold
Counting scars, all kinds, all shapes and all sizes, they vary
From different bad episodes, all with very unique stories
But I finally give myself just one last scar to count
When I get rope burns on my neck and asphyxiation makes me black out.