The Bleeder
I guess I’m what you’d call an emotional hemophiliac,
The ability to heal old wounds is something that I lack.
I just remember the old hurt and the painful scars,
Instead of looking upward and gazing at the stars.
Not quite sure how to put to rest the haunting they encase,
Looking near or far it’s plainly written on my face.
I’ve been called over sensitive and emotional too,
Take a walk in my shoes, and then tell me what you’d do.
You might not be so quick to judge with unwanted opinion and such
Then you might understand why most things hurts so much.
So before you go and cut me down in your wicked way,
Think about the golden rule and be mindful of what you say.
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