They all left scars. 

Each one worse than the one before.
I see them,
I feel them.
Even the ones I try pretend don’t exist.

They all left scars.
Some more than others but they hurt all the same.

They all left scars.
Each one promising to heal the previous ones but they end up expanding on the already existing scar tissue moulding it into their own. Creating more craters and gulfs I can’t fill.

They all left scars.
Permanent tattoos I fail to elude. I just can’t escape them.

These scars are an unwavering reminder of how foolish and brave I was to allow myself to let you in completely, knowing full well you would break everything.

I’m reminded every time I take a breath. These scars on my heart make it hard to breathe when my veins are constricted with clots of heartache.

Bruised, fractured and broken…

I am a walking scar.