Call this getting-into-character poetry. This is something I wrote from the perspective of one of my characters in my sci-fi novel, a 29-year-old assassin with a chequered past.

When I look at you all I can see is what you did
Not who you are
But maybe our deeds really do define us
What I’ve done
What you’ve done
I’m sorry I broke your heart, but you broke mine too
The weight was just too much
We both shattered each other

And still the scars from those grand old days
Trace my body with memories
Memory, remembering
It’s not my fault I hate you
You did it to yourself
You did it when you did it to me
I have no sympathies
You did it to yourself

So when you feel your aching heart
Throbbing with an undying pain
Remember how I’m feeling over here
Alone, tracing a sore
That has healed over, that has grown over
You left me
I left you
However it ended, I’m stronger now

Crimen quos inquinat, aequat.
“Those whom crime pollutes it makes equal.”

2 thoughts on “Scars”

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