Scars

White Lines tell stories
of bravery, passion, or stupidity.
Mine speak of chaos.
Anger and anxiety in equal measure
swirling around my head
until the white lines take pity on me,
and release the anguish
crying it out in dark red teardrops
that drip down my skin
and harden into scabs
that I hide under sweaters.
My white lines
are a window
into a mind on the edge of disaster.
They are my saviors;
they cut through the chaos
in their clean, quick lines

But just how much
can a little white line
do?