Whispers

There is no such thing
As the final slice
The wounds that we inflict
We bear for our whole lives
An object of distaste
Our quiet, hidden rage
The things we cannot tell you
We show you in this way
For some they are consumed
And their lives are lost
Others battle on
Shouldering the cost
We are always different
Never just quite right
You can’t put your finger on it
But you see it in the light
I am struggling to stay
Though I don’t belong
I am not of this world
I was put together wrong
So I carve my flesh
To change how I appear
So you can identify me
Then watch me disappear
The cuts always heal
But the scars linger on
Whispers of the moment
Of a pain that isn’t gone