TW: SELF-HARM
Chilly ice on the skin
Almost like home
Tears dancing down the chin
I’m lost as I roam
On my face a sickly grin
Doing so I’ve found shalom
A deadly sin …
Of nothing but control
But why haven’t the feeling of the win
But I am nothing but alone
But not with the red chrome
To make itself unknown
I am nothing more than a clone
But I’m home with the chilly ice on the skin.
