A Fool With Scars Poem, by gray0328, at My poetic side

you stumble in the dark alleys of thought

hands scraped by the jagged edges of dreams

the bottle tips, the glass cracks, the bruise swells

but god damn, you’re still breathing the ash

the world spits, it snarls, it pisses on you

you trip anyway, those knees know concrete well

and in the hard whispers of broken nights

what you learn isn’t shiny, it can’t sell

mistakes bark louder than a preacher’s hymn

they wrap around your neck, biting skin deep

but in the ache, there’s a kind of song

the low hum of "don’t do that again"

a wise man is just a fool with scars

years worn like patched coats, wine-stained at ends

there’s no relief, just the grit of trying

each step chasing a moment that won't mend

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