Jackets, arm bands, long sleeves and long pants.
We have fresh cuts and scars we must conceal.
Hide our arms and legs, leave nothing to chance.
We fear their reaction to scars revealed.
But flesh wounds are not all we must hide.
The scars of our hearts are deep and painful.
Anymore, and we commit suicide.
Not helped by our angels, so beautiful.
So perfect, our angels, the ones we love.
They reject us, we cry, so very sad.
We try to improve, rise further above.
We can't catch up, so we do something bad.
We take a blade and stain everything red.
New scars, lost blood, makes us light in the head.
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