A Fool With Scars

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