Torn.

Some people wear ice like a cloak
But instead of protecting them from the cold
They cover their emotions inside

Although some wear it willingly
Some can’t stop once they start
And I am one of them

Like blood runs down a girl’s skin
Ink is spread on mine
Not from a needle but a pen

It’s scrawled up and down my arm
And when people ask why
I only say my cloak has a tear

Sometimes it’s more then a cloak
It’s a block, a big, heavy mass surrounding me
Keeping me from everyone I love
Until they walk away