I knew a boy who liked to draw,

He drew pictures that nobody saw,

He was most artistic late at night,

In the bathroom, out of sight,

He kept a secret that no one knew,

He didn't tell a soul and his gallery grew,

His drawings were different, no paper or pen,

But needed a bandage now and again,

We stood by a river under the stars,

He rolled up his sleeves and showed me his scars,

He felt embarrassed and looked down at his shoe,

Then I rolled up my sleeves and whispered, "I draw too."