Bandages seal the bruises you painted,
but every violet bloom remembers your signature.
I stitched the gash with gold, wore the scar like a star,
now the mirror flashes back a lighter blade.
Time turned the poison into proof—
I still bleed, but only in the key of neon.
Watch me dance on the ashes of the bridge,
each step a match, each chorus a controlled burn.
Bad blood? No—just fuel for the afterglow.