Scars as Brushstrokes
Scars like brushstrokes, life’s own art,
Each a tale, a fractured part.
Wounds map the path where madness starts,
Painted by life’s cruel, sharp darts.
Every slash, a stroke so dark,
Each imperfection leaves a mark.
Sculpted by our cruelest nights,
Their jagged lines are pure delights.
From battles fought and battles lost,
Each scar tells of a heavy cost.
Ripped flesh and inked despair combine,
In this gallery, scars define.
Look closely at each curve and seam,
They sketch the truth of every dream.
In the halls of pain, they hang with pride,
Each scar a badge the heart can’t hide.
Through agony, they found their grace,
In scars, life’s harshest truths embrace.