wound of the pricked hand. (taylor's The Prophecy lyrics feel like life.)

but oh, look at her pricked hand

look at how blood oozes out

wait, is she smiling?

i say to her, "hey you, look it's bleeding"

did she not listen, wait, she's still smiling

her fingers tremble yet she laughs,

soft and eerie, light as air

"ain't it funny how it don't hurt much?"

she whispers like a wicked prayer.

i reach for her, she pulls away,

clutching pain like it's a prize,

"some scars ain't meant to fade away,"

she hums with emptiness in her eyes.

i kneel beside her and watch her sway,

a shadow trembling in the breeze,

her smile cracks, but does not break,

like winter clinging to dead trees.

"why smile still if wounds still sting?"

i ask, yet feel like i know everything.

she tilts her head and stares at the night,

"cause tears bring pity, smiles bring might."

i take her hand, she flinches once,

like she forgot she still exists.

her lips part, like she might speak,

but all i hear is breath and mist.

"you ain’t alone," i tell her soft.

she scoffs. "you really think that’s deep?

"alone don’t promise, alone don’t stay,

alone don’t pry like it can save.

alone don’t whisper hollow things,

then throw a flower on my grave."

her smile cracks, but not from pain,

just something cruel, something resigned.

"you see, pain’s a friend, it doesn’t leave."

some wounds don’t heal," she coos too sweet,

"they only teach you how to breathe."

the air is thick, the night is still,

the blood still drips, her bones still shake.

yet through it all, she lifts her chin,

and smiles as if she knows she’ll never break.