These are not clothes. These are open wounds.
These are not pants. These are the legs I learned to stand on again.
I forged my own chains. Now they hold me together.
One letter. One drop of blood. One promise kept.
Small enough to carry only what still hurts.
"Nothing to live for" on the chest. Everything to wear for on the back.
Seams follow arteries. Because some scars deserve to be seen.
Wear me when you need armor that still lets you bleed.
"Nothing to live for" on the chest. Everything to wear for on the back.