If you were to open my shirt, either by consent or by force, if you were to rip apart the buttons or button down slowly. you would find dozens and dozens of little scars inside. Each not larger than your thumb. With my chest now bare, you could press upon them. You would find, not only pleasure at my pain, but that each one bore a name. Family, strangers, and society alike, had left their mark on me. as I screamed in silent agony. But you'll find to your surprise that most of these scars bear my name. My neck was so clean, my arms and legs barren so ignorant of the scars you have found. Now however, kneeling on the ground, my chest is bear to you, Exposed to the worst you might do. There’s no going back, no closing my shirt. The choice is yours to chose, What will you do?