The skin stretched across my body is nothing but a blank canvas for what ever twisted image "god" has chosen for me.
Every one of my scars tells my story. From the best times to the worst.
I've been burnt, beat, broken, cut, torn, and battered. But I'm still here. I'm still fighting for my right to life, and whatever happiness there is in this fucked up world.
"This one is because of him or she gave me that one or this happened when whatever." It's my life.
I'm not scared to show them either. It's kind of hard not to. They cover my body from limb to limb showing that my body remembers. It remembers what they all did.