My doctor never told me that my brain is a pincushion
A million pins jammed into keyholes that don’t always fit
unsheath one and my soul could bleed out
twist one, maybe I’ll grin or grit
Jam one in, you’ll impale my soul
I’m born with those pins
Frights and fights have made them sprout
I can’t touch them
Some of my lobes are Pandora’s Boxes
I can’t risk letting out the demons
But what if there’s an angel inside that needs to be liberated?
Or do I keep the secret angel with me?