My arms are covered with red
My heart has been drained
My wrists and ankles have bled
My mind and body are forever pained
I've forgotten how to feel
I don't want a life
I can't tell what's real
I only feel the steel of my knife
I can't tell anyone my feelings
I sit alone and talk to myself
My skin is in peelings
My knives are scattered along my shelf
I wish I had someone to talk to
A person who really cared
Someone who was true
Where I couldn't be judged
I sit in my room and cry into my bed
I think of stuff that's wrong in my head
I'm buried and drowning in the color red
They don't know if I'm alive or dead
Nobody wants to help and that's fine
I don't need real friends
I have my friend, a bottle of wine
We will all eventually meet our ends
I live on for one reason, one I can't say
It's the one perfect thing that is real
We'll all understand one day
It's the one other thing I can feel
We'll make it through our lives
I don't need these knives
Life can be worth living
If you can be understanding
