Branded like cattle, marked liked an animal.

Flesh marred to the sight, wrinkled to the touch.

Strokes of pink and red swirl over the skin, embedded in the fleshy canvas.

The palette of color is striking against the lack of melanin, a message to send help is written.

The messages are ignored by most, mocked by some, and understood by none.

This canvas is permanent, this flesh never to be replaced.

No amount of scrubbing will erase what was done, and time moves to slowly for my liking.

While some of the older marks have faded, they were but mere scratches to begin with.

There is no hope for these new lines, as the message they sent was too deeply etched into skin.

They are like spiderwebs, intricately woven to create a nonsensical pattern that not even I can decipher.

There must be some kind of meaning beneath these scars, some kind of purpose they serve.

Perhaps one day the meaning will reveal itself, shedding the mystery it surrounds itself in.

But perhaps one day a scar will be too deep, and will have no more to follow.

Is this peace for a Borderline? Only time will tell.

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