I knew a boy who liked to draw,
He drew pictures that no one saw.
He was most artistic late at night,
In the bathroom out of sight.
He kept a secret that no one knew,
He didn’t tell, but his gallery grew.
His drawings were different, he used no paper or pen,
But he constantly needed a bandage again and again.
We stood by the river under the stars,
He rolled up his sleeves reveling his scars.
He felt embarrassed and looked down at his shoes,
I rolled up my sleeves and whispered,
“I draw too.”