Your hair got long, but I've put on weight.
And maybe it wasn't you, but it sure wasn't me.
Not then, not when my blood still ran smooth.
But I've mache'd a layer 'round my bones - cocooned them for protection,
for some day when they'll dry off in the sun and fly.

Too afraid to let my brain bleed in front of another
because I learned it's not up to them to save me.
No, because it's my needle and my thread,
and I'll sew myself together again.