She was so careful,
With that crimson thread.
As she sewed my soul,
Back into my head.

A scar is one thing
She said so calm.
As she touched my cheek,
With a vanilla palm.

But open wounds,
Are the things that ****.
You'll rarely survive,
Lest you have the will.

And so she sewed,
And I bled slow.
Waiting for my open wound,
To finally close.