You breathe my manic in without a sound.

Even if I have already fallen; 

My limbs splattered like art on the ground.

But as you clean me up, mix suds in my head,

The water caresses my thighs.

The bathtub is not red this time.

It is clear and filled with hope

That someday I won't lie to you when "I'm fine".

I hurt myself with words that wound

My arms like sharp blades of glass.

It cuts easy into a pruned battleground;

Constantly edging for an advantage.

But your nature blooms around my disease

And makes my dark days bright.

The flowers ward off wasps to 

House honey bees who pollinate happiness,

So that Carefree and I can finally reunite.