Scars From A Blade
March 1, 2017•3 min
February 28, 1999: Scars from a blade blessed with escape The mirror—I look into, in hopes of locating an empty palm. The only one available is my own. The empty palm almost black, “Glad to meet you!” Until I see the lines. Gray: moodiness beware. Clear white: too much time to spare. Yet, it forever remains—the open palm fading to black. You burning me, I die, you walk away.