I cut my hand once when I was with him. That's what it's based on. It left a scar. It's more a mental one than anything else. It reminds me of him everytime I look down.

I never knew its origin,
The cut that left this scar.
I glanced down and watched as the blood coursed down my palm, cross my arm.
I saw the remnants of the stain in an identical placement on yours,
Left over from our hand's embrace.
The blood flowed freely as did my heart for you.
But as the flow ceased, my heart did not.

The scar shines bright today.
Screaming its history to all who listen, belting a ballad full of lies.
A ghost of all we once were, a constant reminder of what we could be.
An obtrusive mark that refuses to let the past remain.
And I can't block you out.
No matter how hard I try.
My mind always comes back to you...