Skin is thin and unbroken, Like words of hate, left unspoken, Until the blade of conflict cuts, The skin that spreads, as opened up. The blood flows out like crimson streams, Surrounds and drowns the strongest screams, Until the river Red runs dry, All else is left alone to die. The wound, it slowly closes up, And mends until it closes shut, It hides the pain it felt before, But waits for pain that’s left in store. Scars appear where wounds once healed, And still reveal where holes were sealed, Remind of times of massive loss, When losing canceled out the cost. The only thing prolonging pain, Are memories inside the brain, That if erased, would put to rest, Reminders of the pain that’s left.