Behold the secret whispers of scars that mark the skin,
A silent story of a warrior, of battles fought within.
The body, a canvas, tainted by despair’s cruel brush,
Yet through the shadows, gleams a light no dark can crush.

Each line, a verse of torment, a sonnet of the fight,
The heart, a fortress guarded by the armor of the night.
A childhood bruised, a soul once bound by chains unseen,
In every scar, a vow to rise, a promise kept serene.

From ashes risen, a phoenix, fierce and free,
The past is a tempest, yet triumph is its legacy.
Through storms of silent tears, the spirit...