To pour out all this pain,
I don’t know any other way
Than to slit the skin upon me
To make it say what I can’t say.
A nostalgic type of feeling
My heart constricts within my chest
And it crashes down upon me
Because dying’s what I do best.
A never ending circle
I’m stuck inside this rut,
It keeps me up at night
And makes me itch to make the cut.
They always toss me to the side
Because no one wants what’s broken
And they do not seem to care
That I can hear what’s left unspoken.
Because there’s thoughts between their words
And truth between their lies,
And I can see what they keep hidden
Because it gleams within their eyes.
They say they really want me,
But that’s just one more spoken lie,
It’s their eyes that scream the truth:
They don’t care if I die.
But this cutting isn’t something
That I hope will end my life,
It’s an awful side-effect
That I find relief within a knife.
I do not want attention,
This isn’t a sick game,
I’m not mutilating flesh
So they’ll finally know my name.
It just hurts like hell inside
With nothing outside I can show,
Of the torment that I feel
That no one cares to know.
These scars wouldn’t be so hidden
If someone stopped to look
But they just see right through me
While I swallow sinker, line, and hook.
I’m yearning for affection
As I walk this razor’s edge
And if only for a moment,
For someone to pull me from this ledge.
Because I don’t want to fall,
But everyone’s pushing at my back
And I’m about to lose my footing
Lose the life that I have lacked.
So maybe these are my last words,
My whispered last goodbye,
That no one cares to hear
As they shove me off the side.
