Scars

Sitting in the den of my once bright pasts rests along the wall; a mirror

Not the ordinary gainfully vain vanity that portrays the outter shell in which we keep

But the horrid cast of glass that reminds me far to much of my past

And even as it remains covered;  I am ready

The time as come at last

My skin crawls as the aged and dusty drape falls to the floor and silence echoes through the halls

My reflection hides it's smile

It's mistaken now for man whom been riddled with scars for ages and yet, remains forsaken

Abandon by the happiness my facade would impose and as I reminisce I suppose I have become more comfortable with myself

Yes they're deep; the scars

but the seeds of fortune for myself have reaped nothing more or less than what I care to seek

I can't hide them anymore

And I won't