We talked about my future, and my skin began to itch,
Because I have no ideas for it that I want to pitch.
My mom says be a surgeon, my dad says just get rich,
So we talked about my future, and my skin began to itch.
I sat on my bed itching, trying not to cry.
My brother asked what’s wrong, so I knew I had to lie.
I said, “Oh, it’s nothing!!” He shrugged and said goodbye,
Leaving me alone to itch and just try not to cry.
We talked about my feelings, I started to itch my arm,
Because all this weight I was carrying began to bring me harm.
I told her, “I’m okay, love.” She smiled and said I had charm,
Then she left me all along in there, so I had to itch my arm.
The skin peeled off, I scratched and picked too terribly,
I cried and sobbed while my newly naked arms began to slowly bleed.
The skin was in my fingernails, a bandage my arm needs,
I got up to go and get one while the blood came up in crimson beads.