Scars

"e;The fabric covering my body makes my skin crawl, smothers me, adheres to both seen and unseen scars, ripping off scabs just barely healing, making me bleed once again; not only from the wounds, the cuts I inflict upon myself every night on stage; from my heart, my soul. The fabric that covers me is a mask I have no use for, and serves only to comply myself to what others want from me. And yet, ...