A cut on my wrist, a cry in the cold,
it doesn't help though I'm told:
'Its a danger, your brave, your risking your life.!!"
I say 'I don't care' as I pick up a knife.
Mysterious cuts and open gashes,
burns on my hands and horrid rashes.
Pain and pleasure in my hands,
wearing sweatshirts by different bands.
An excuse for everything, a truthful lie,
they look at my wrist and ask me why.
I stutter at first then think in my head,
"This person already wants me dead..."
So as I trip over words and fall over thought,
my sentences in my throat begin to rot.
So I smile through pain and look at the ground,
then in a few minutes there's blood all around.
I'm screaming in distress, please hear me out,
im telling you what my life was about.
Now I'm dead because of you,
thank you Hun, I loved you too...
