I wear plasters across the slits,
To stop my nails from scratching back the skin,
The skin that vaguely tries to heal,
Whilist the itch of pain digs in,

I was feeling tender and exposed,
On the barren desert of my blues,
Too much crimson escaping fast,
With deep pain and panic flailing through,

I sighed softly to the sweet sting,
And let the black ooze out as red,
And stepped away from the water,
And watched as the rivers bled,

I dried the source but still it came,
And there was a knocking on the door,
A plaster hastily pressed in place,
Slowed it to a few drops or more,

I smiled at my Mum as she came in,
We laughed and chatted as we do,
She didn't see the drips on the floor,
Suspicion inivisbly gave her no reason to,

Gently I wiped my secret clean,
I've still got poison to drink,
But pretences have to be held in place,
So that no one sees how I sink.