Bloody Hands

Sweet red is the color that covers my hands.

Every day they are tortured, stabbed for a purpose:

To preserve the life of my pancreas. 

They were once bruised and beaten, discouraged

Questioning what led them to this place

And if there was a way to leave it behind.

But, no, they learned this adventure would stay:

And that this was the new normal, their new life.

Now, these hand's have scars that visibly show

But, they know it's the only way to survive.

So each day they face the struggle always ongoing

And strive for healthiness to keep living this new life.