scars Cicero the scars are pulsing with the past old pains and old desires flood into my throat, choking, sticking coating everything in syrup like affection the scars are pulsing with the past familiar voices, familiar scents familiar neck, familiar lips tease me like a dream I dare not have and dare not redream there is a splashing of stone into mud my eyes close to teach the lips the reservation of blindness the scars are pulsing with the past 030504 ... cocoon i love all my scars because each one is a memory of a time and place and what i was like and what i was doing and who i was with 040417 ... Alvarny I have a scar that is over 11 inches... and it serves as a constant reminder, not to the pain or the fear but to my own mortality. 050413 ... nom i can pretend i don't exist 060208 ... nom i can hide in smiles 060208 ... nom i can go quiet 060208 ... cocoon theyre starting to fade this makes me sad i like my scars my personal scrapbook of memories 090625 ... past "run. run fast," he said. "why?" "he's toxic. a bad seed. trust me, i know him like the back of my hand." she looked at him with a sceptical smirk "you say that about everything, but people don't actually know their hands like that." "try me," he said, offering her his hands. she took them in hers and traced her fingers along their dry contours, circling their small nicks and raised scars. looking up to his eyes she ran her index finger around a circular scar on the back of his left hand. "okay, what's this?" "fifteen years ago, working garde manger, i spilled melted sugar from a creme brule. my supervisor said to let it cool and harden before peeling it off." "and this?" she traced a short scar just above his right wrist. "ah, that's a twofer." he turned his hand over to show a longer thin line along his palm. "when pressing down on sharp knives to cut something hard, always use a towel. or else you'll cut your palm, swear, and the knife will get the back of your hand on its way down." 221222 what's it to you? who go blather from