Naivety at its most generous
Inflicted upon the unknowing youth
Yet somewhere along the wagon track
Organic obstacles hinder our progress
And we tighten our grip on trust
Thrusting ourselves into a dormant fear
Sliced open willingly by that person
The one we thought we could save
Left in dark to nurse our wounds
Nocturnal until the scar forms
A ghostly mark which hides the damage
Then we wait for the next rock
Or the next bright light, free of scarring
And we in turn become the knife
Capable of damage because of our damage
Because when we love a damaged person
We become damaged