I don’t understand the bitter taste you carry around under your tongue,
The knifes and daggers in your back, that you keep tagging and pulling on just to walk straight,
Scary scars dressed as tattoos clothed in red,
So you do wear your heart on your sleeve, and its bloodied and bruised,
Like every other beautiful thing we end up falling in love with,
Bloodied, beautiful, and bruised.
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