Please don't kid, about kids who cut.

I thought when you made the joke.

So I pulled up the leg of my pants,

And instantly my heart was in my throat.

And I was afraid, that you’d be mad.

Your reaction was to give the cuts a smack.

But I wanted you to know,

I didn’t want to take the action back.

But then you took me, close in your arms.

And I was happy I let you see.

I almost started crying when you said,

"Why would you do that Gracie?"

No angle sit on my shoulder,

Nor a devil with its fork,

They manifest themselves inside and my vision they contort.

My angles wigs are long and black, the soft feathers of a raven.

And behind hands all soft and white, hide claws long and misshapen.

So pretty and so perfectly sits a halo upon my head,

But my halos glow is not of gold but a radiant bright blood red.

It seems I am a devil more,

Each time I start sinning.

But if I still look like an angel,

Is the devil or angel winning?

I’m about to break a promise,

To one who's comforting words have made me cry,

One thing he might never understand,

Is why.

I wish I could tell you, I wish you could see,

But if I told you you’d take him away from me.

I have two secrets I’ve been keeping from you, one is purple one is blue.

These secret colors keep my world together,

A world with bindings delicate as a feather.

The purple secret’s who I really am, but without blue you wouldn’t give a dam.

You’ll probably never really know me,

Until your trust worthy and this you can show me.

The other secret the one that’s blue, I think you already partially knew,

You don’t know as much as you think you do,

But I really wish I could tell you.

The blood rushing through the veins of the ocean in a sea shell,

Welcome to the world that you just thought that you knew so well,

Welcome to the world were eyes void of color are crystal blue,

Were the best illusions you’ll ever see is the world that you view,

When people say the real world, they don’t know what they have said,

There’s no real world just as there’s no living and no dead,

Everything’s a construction of our arbitrary imagination,

Creating our own worlds, owning our situations.

Come sit with me on the bench,

In the mid-winter summer bliss,

And walk on the back like a balance beam,

And tell me things it never seems

That you'd tell anyone but me.