I once knew a boy who liked to draw
He would draw pictures that nobody saw
He didn't need a paintbrush, pencil, or pen,
But needed a bandage now and again
His art wasn't out in the open, shared and displayed,
And in order to draw his mentality paid
Then one day in winter he slipped and he slid
And his sleeves were pushed up, showing some that he hid
He looked down embarrassed, scared and ashamed
So I rolled up my own, and showed him my pain