I hold the weapon high,
I'm ready.
The metaphore of my attacker,
He caused me such fright.
My flesh the innocent victim
Who feels so much guilt and shame.
Then it comes, the pain
And with it, yet again, the ever felt shame.
Crimsom it pours out from the wound.
The blood is my tears pouring from the tomb.
It runs down my leg and unto the floor.
There's no escape,
Not anymore.
Then slowly the wound heals like my broken heart.
The scar a memory of my life ripped apart.
I'm off to face the world today,
To take each step,
Live day by day.
But when the pain seems to be too much,
I look to the skies and scream,
Because in the end, only God knows, WHY?!