To Feel, Alive

His sleeves, stained red, with self hatred and an endless need to punish himself,
Desperately searching, grasping, dying,
To feel, to feel, to feel alive.


He wears his scars for the world to see, why should he care?
They know nothing of his suffering. They know nothing of the lengths he must go,
To feel, to feel, to feel alive.


He remembers a time, smooth skin, still innocent of the trials of a tortured soul,
Innocent of a boy who doesn’t belong, who would do anything to find meaning,
And to feel, to feel, to feel alive.


To what end must he mar himself, when no matter how many drops of sorrow paint the floor,  
It is never enough to truly allow him his peace,
And to feel, to feel, to feel alive.

©

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