No scars to hide.
It’s nice not to have to tell my wife,
that I did it again.
The anguish that I saw on her face.
It gave me the will that I needed,
to break the habit.
Now there is smoke in the air again.
It takes me back to dark days.
But I am not who I was then.
All it is, is a memory.
A memory of a time,
when I was ruled over by pain.
It is not a craving.
I’ve not desire to go back,
to the blood.
I can bear my flesh with pride,
there are no more scars to hide.