Life's never harmed you.

You're the lucky one.

Running through a forest of knives,

And not a single one has scratched you.

Will you make it out unscathed?

Life still hasn't scarred you.

That's very rare.

Are you the lucky one?

Running through a forest of fire,

And oblivious to the stench of burning flesh that surrounds you.

Will you make it out unsinged?

Life's never hurt you.

Not yet anyway.

You are the lucky one.

Or maybe,

You're the one they keep alive,

To save the bleeding and burning.