With a splinter in my hand
Wince in pain and stare
At drops of blood I wear
I allow myself to shiver
At the thought of sharpened splinters
Buried in my unstained flesh
Deep inside my cleanest mess
But I only stand stock-still
And let my blood still spill
I don't attempt to heal my wound
Yet I don't press the splinter through
And then I try to pull it out
But it's too far and I'm in doubt
Could it be better for my skin?
Lovelier to leave it in?
Cause I don't want a scar
Never wanted to be marred
And more pain'd be caused by pulling out
Then leaving in and twisting 'bout
But maybe scars and painful stitches
Are better than bloody, dirty splinters
And maybe I prefer a hole
To a scar on the side of my soul
I tumble down and stand
With a splinter in my hand
Pull it out and continue on
Hurting less now it's gone