It doesnt have to be this way
Mascara trails down her face
as she remembers that one great day
that day when she still believed
it doesnt have to be this way.
A shaky X marks that sacred spot
but what you ask will be her prize
this is it
she feels her heart rate rise.
Leaking from her wrists is blood
one, two, three its time to harm
a razor blade for a paintbrush
her canvas is her arm
You swear she looks familiar
but still you fail to see
that little girl who has given up
just so happens to be me.
