Pattern

Criss-cross patterns on my arms
Blood streaked and seeping
Un-countable scars.
Raised and raw,
They scream out pain.
Jagged and sore,
They scream my pain.
Naughts and crosses
I'm the scoreboard
Counting the losses
And mounting pain.
Etched reminders
Of other days
A checkerboard of information
Has become my arms.
Raised and raw
Jagged and sore
Silently i count.
I win.