The Gift of Everything

Cuts

Skin that's pale
A blade that's sharp
It bleeds and stains
And the pain, it sparked

Words are often sharp
When life is dull
Some are a blow to the heart
And comfort doesn't exist at all

All the colors in my skin
Bled out by scars made from blades
Arms are white, but blood is black
I can never get those colors back

Papercuts on my fingers
Makes it hard to play the six string
Scars on my arm that sting
Reminds me of the failures that lingers