Cursive

I’ll take the razor from your hand
Give you a marker instead
Then you can write on your arm
Bleed a new kind of red

A way to show pain
That your wrists will forgive
Whisper your secrets
In inky cursive

I can’t promise you that
I can change the past
As for self-imposed scars
Last time was the last

You say I don’t get it
And maybe I don’t
But watch you run dry?
You know that I won’t

If you need the blood
I’ll bleed for you
Redirect the hurt
I’ll take that too

Scattered white scars
Reminiscent of glory
Curl in with fresh letters
Telling your story