Scars Poem by Luna Moon

Dig in with that blade,
You know that's how you made,
The wounds which so abscure,
The tension starts to blur,
You're vision.
Vision of yourself,
But do you care?
You know you're life isn't fair.
'Cause down hill with a twist and a turn,
And still for blade you always yearn,
Until it's gold.
Golden like the scars upon your skin,
And the knife does always seem to win.
'Cause wounds are abscure,
When gold visions start to blur,
Scars.