Aren't they pretty?

Those scars you hide underneath those blankets of metaphors
You wrapped them well with lovely words
Not to cover the ugly pain
But to tell the world,

How a sad story could be written
With such beautiful, aching words.

©kg

if i do not tend to my wounds they will become infected
inflamed, red, hot to the touch
rotting and dripping with pus

i know this, and still i let them fester
refusing to remove the soiled bandages because i know it will hurt
even though i am no stranger to pain

eventually the sickness will infect my blood
spread to the rest of my body and brain
maybe it will **** me
but i will not hold my breath

i have survived wounds like this before
i have the scars to prove it
i have no choice but to heal
and try again

One more word, and I'll blow up.
One more day, and I'll grow up.
One more drink, and I'll throw up.
One more week, and I'll give up..

But words don't have to be said-,
Growing is an ongoing process,
Drinks don't have to be alcohol,
And help is easily available.

1-888-299-1188

Day after day,
Night after night,
I am struggling more,
I can't see the light.

                                             It's a funny little thing,
                                             The thing stuck in my mind.
                                             How could I ever think,
                                             That there was a love I could find.

I wonder sometimes,
What others would say.
They would see the scars,
And they would walk away.

                                              Every single day,
                                              It gets darker.
                                              The darkness leaves a mark,
                                              Just like a marker.

Day after day,
Night after night,
I am struggling more,
I can't see the light.