The black will turn to red

When the ink starts to itch, the black will turn to red
“Eke it out,” she laughed, if only to herself
I stopped and stared but shied away when she caught my eye

It wasn’t me down by the pool but I took the blame
Fine!
Cower.

When the black turns to red, the little ones turn to agony
You know, you’re a little asshole (I’m not sorry)
You know, it’s quiet when you’re not here

It came down and I tried to warn her; he didn’t believe me
You almost missed it
You lied like you always do

When the little ones turn to agony, I crawl into myself
“Eat it or I’ll cut your ear off!” he menaced
Don’t go too slow – there’s bears, you know.

Flutter. Dance. Naked in the room, unsure.
“You’re a little faggot, aren’t you?”
No.

When I crawl into myself, the itch comes again.