All of them,

Those feel

Forced to fragment

Are nothing new,

Just the shards

Of something old,

Something sharp and cold

That shattered

And aims to flaunt

Its brutal edges

Against all

That refuses

To harden.

I am not healing,

I am human

Marked with scars

Like an archive of the past.

Those that only aim to master they wounds

Are bound to let they wounds master them.

A self-serving slave

Walks with they own whips

Doctoring themselves

Back to hellth.