The scars remain
the same wound
not quite healed right,
not the mark f Cain
it is not brother or sister slain,
They just thought
It would live forever,
Stunned at how early
It perished,
her fingers clinging
onto the empty air
it left behind,
her chest bearing the scars
that bleed again
Maybe pain is better
Than feeling nothing,
scars only remind her
of what she had and
lost,
she can’t get rid
of the mark
even if she’d wanted to
needing something to fill
the vacuum that
consumes her,
she bleeding on the
inside,
still wounded even when
time says she should not be,
the mark of it
pressed into her
like a cattle brand,
signifying who it is
who once owned her
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