There are white lines on my arms, signifying a rough past that I’ve afflicted upon myself. There is nothing I can do to take the scars away. They cling onto my arms, like leeches. However hard I try to brush them away, they will never leave.
Sound: Waves of words of the past comes to haunt me. I swat at them like annoying flies. The beast that is dead within me scratches underneath the skin, giving it the sound of a swarm of bugs trying to break out. It sounds like sighing after a good and hard cry. Now that the bugs have broken out, there will be no more bugs underneath.
Smell: It smells like old dried blood stuck in a rag, forgotten and unwashable. Old rotten life stuck on my back. The scent of this corpse falls behind me, clinging to every blade of grass, trying to quench life wherever it goes.
Taste: My mouth was once filled with bitterness of hate, rejection and loneliness, flashbacks to the past bursts in my mind every time I taste them. Tears fall into my mouth, salty and sweaty. Fresh air that rolls over my tongue brings a breath of oldness, rid of bitterness.
Sight: These lines were once beaded with deep red, which eventually builds up and let a drop fall at a time. Now the lines are white, washed clean with blood. They are there to show to all, but yet hidden.
Touch/Feel: Anger, resentment and sorrow ravages me from time to time. It is only but my past. Throwing away the savage beast within me, I feel accepted, despite the ugliness that is present. My heart was once torn apart, shredded to parts, but now is complete, like it was never shred before. There is no touch less tender than having a second chance at life.
I know it is all behind me, keeping my eyes forward, remembering that I was given a second chance. There is nothing I will want to take the scars away. They are reminders to me. I gladly share the scars with Jesus. These arms were ravaged by sin, but washed clean by His blood.
