Stale Whispers

All the thin red scars,
From days so sad and stale,
They draw an ugly picture,
They carve a sorry tale.

All the salty tears,
Enough to make me shiver,
They turn into a stream,
And then a flowing river.

All the memories lost,
Which make my blurry past,
They tell me sordid stories,
And they will always last.