My scar

The weeping willows, and the billowing branches; of the tree circled, and traced the calamitous sky; filled with diamond like stars; that shines so brightly, and as I raised my hand up to reach and touch, and hold a star I was struck my lightning, and my right arm was severed in half. As I look at this scar on my forearm... I am transplanted in memory after memory.

In one, I'm on the floor covered in blood; at my parents' family business; where I was reaching for a cigarette, and after being told no; I punched my arm through glass.

And my arm was severed in half. Then, I'm in a zoo, reaching in a lions cage, to pet and feed the animal. The wild beast bit my arm. And that was that.

I was being punished. I'm not allowed to hope and dream or relieve my self. As I look at that bright star; in the calamatous 

evening sky. I withdraw my hand. My hand isn't severed, but does have a scar. And as the star seemed to lower enough; for me to hold. I withdrew my desire to hold it. And then I felt a cool gust of air. I was awake.

And I began to itch my scar.