Bruises cover every inch of my skin, either purple, black or blue,
And they hurt every time that someone comes close, but maybe you want them to.
You tell me that you love them, kiss each scar and cut and scrape,
But they are not something to fall in love with, or a way for you to escape.
I have never been the girl that needed someone to tell her she's lost,
And although you love my bruises, you don't ask about the cost.
You're what I call a healer, you want to place a bandage on every one,
But my wounds don't want to heal, still you lick them and it's done.
