I am trapped in this skin, scattered with scars.
My past is embedded in their dark colouring, their raised ridges.
It reminds me of a past tormented by unknown demons.
But they are just that, scars.
And so they remind me of a future, with every day that passes.
A future of happiness, of hope.
Every scar has a story.
These stories have already been written.
But there will be no epilogue.
I will write no more.