||You can forget the pain, but the scars will remind you.||

He painted not with colors now,

But with blood and tears from his scars.

He cut himself daily.

Each one with a wish made so longingly,

To get a friend,

Who would help him mend.

And when it failed,

He cut himself once more.

The flesh wailed.

But all the pains he bore.

The pain and scars were to count

How many wishes he had made and yet they hadn't found,

His aching dull heart,

Which was repeatedly pierced by the darts.

1,2,3...

"One more scar and perhaps I shall be free."

11,12,13...

"I wish someone looked close enough for them to be seen."

People adorned tattoos,

But for him, it was the hidden scars.

People counted stars,

But he counted his scars.

And they were similar and different too.

Stars were uncountable,

So were his scars.

But they were beautiful, with constellations,

Unlike his, which gave him no elation.