Scars Poem by Francis Santaquilani

Even when she wears

Long sleeves,

Even when she's happy,

When her thin, red lips split

Into a smile on her white face

I'm reminded of

The deep red spilling

From the perfectly clean and

Straight cuts on her thin white wrists.

Now I choose my words carefully

My lips are usually sealed

As tight as the scars on her thin

White wrists. After all,

It was my razor sharp words

That put them there.