Scars by Marlowe Dickens

Once I had a dream, I awoke in a
Hospital bed with my family and friends all around me.

My wrists were bound in bandages
And they all wept
“Why? Why would he do it?”

“But I did not.” He ripped off the bandages to reveal bare wrists.
“See, I did not do it.”

But they continued to weep.

“Look, I have no scars, it was not me.”

“He had been beautiful, why could he not see?”

But I could not see the scars
For they were in me.


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Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussionā€”broadly speakingā€”of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.


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