Life asked Death, "Why do people love me, but hate you?" Death responded, "Because you are a beautiful lie and I'm a painful truth."

I knew a boy who liked to draw
He drew pictures that nobody saw
He was most artistic late at night,
In the bathroom, out of sight
He kept a secret no one knew,
He couldn't tell a soul, and his gallery grew
His drawings were different no paper or pen,
But needed a bandage now and again
We stood by the river, under the stars,
He rolled up his sleeves and showed me his scars
He felt embarrassed and looked down at his shoe
Then I rolled up my sleeves and whispered, "I draw too."