White Lines

Time doesn't need to heal right

Upon my arm, in paper white,

lay across two scars.

Two pale lines,

scarcely a thread,

stubbornly stay.

Years of memories

plowed through my skin.

A field of bloom

and yet only two remain.

Out of the many,

I can't recall

where these in particular originate.

"Time heals all wounds"

Though it is true,

doesn't need to heal right.

Author's Note

I've been on a recent journey of revamping old, unpublished poetry from years ago.