Glinting steel, vulnerable palette

Pure white skin an artist cut

So clean and thin.

A secret hideout no one knows

A secret release beneath a knife

A trickle of crimson

Now unclean skin

Breaking the surface, born again.

Should everyone know

A question obvious

No one would care

No need to communicate

I won't (don't) even dare.

Tombstone of the future

Name cut in stone

The ending date unknown

Slowly nicks are made

Putting dampers on your life.

Telling yourself a secret

No one understands

Yet everyone experiences

When the clock of crimson

Runs out of time

Your lips will fall silent

Everyone will question

But also understand