The pen is crusted
Dry and rusted
The ink is red
It grows brighter as I use it again and again
Each layer a story with a saddened end
No one understands why the pen is my friend

The paper is brown
Torn and frowned
Covered in rough-edged lines
The pen on paper is the only way to pass the time
With each line, a tear stream down my face
No one understands why I craze the way it makes my heart race

The paper is too stained and the pen too dry
My friends see my face and wonder why I have cried
Then I pull out the paper from behind my sleeve
And their gasp echo through the trees
They pity in their eyes let's me know I'll write again
Now, do you understand? My skin and the blade are the paper and the pen