I see them still
In the morning shower
Or during gardening in the summer
The faint scars of my past
Those tokens of my own shame
That I do not hide no more
I have suffered and cried at times
And arms, wrists count them out
Each foolish night or moment
When the blade kissed the skin
In an ill forgotten moment
Counted out in lines
They serve to remind me now
That I hope never to relive
The anguish and sorrow that brought me
Ever so near to the final brink
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very powerful and honest poem Matthew, thank you for sharing.