I have a little secret, behind my facade smile,
These unseen, incurable scars deeply rooted inside of me.
It isn’t measles, it isn’t chickenpox,
They look just the same,
big, small, spotty little,
That can’t be shattered,
only one small scratch,
Then it wilts.
Red, red, everywhere red,
You can’t bare yourself,
Or to see yourself,
Or to show yourself,
But to hide yourself.
No matter how well-covered it is,
No matter how well-aided it is,
It resurfaced victoriously.
That ample heartache,
No matter how much I did,
That could tranquil the patients’ heartache,
These unspokable thoughts,
which forever keeps in secrecy.