Your love tried to take the credit of my poetry. But unfortunately, my dear, it were your scars that compelled me to write.
I wonder if you look at yourself in the mirror and feel the same. Do you feel the way I feel? No, you don’t. You don’t have the scars to hide, or the marks to run away from.
I was never ever so pretty as much as you made me feel one day. Just like I was never ever this unfortunate as much as I felt this day.
You never ever even touched me. Yet, you left your marks. Now your scars lie all over my hands and legs, marks on my face, and bruises on my neck.
Do you have anything to regret? I hope you do. And I hope it’s the scars you are the most regretful of.
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