I slip quietly from conversations
to taste the lonely air outside...

I am quite capable
of bleeding on my own...

edit: This poem might trigger someone.
I don't want that, so I'm putting this warning...

The petals fall,
strumming the thin skin of the drum...

As soft as smoke, the fire came
trailing through the daffodils...

I'm full of the fear of regret
So I give up on things I could get...

If you take out all the anger
And you lay it on your skin...