No knife is sharp enough.
No word is harsh enough.
My pain is to deep.
My mountains, too steep.
I could bleed out and my pain would still be here.
I shed another tear.
So what if it hurts me?!
At least I will feel somewhat free!
No one cares enough to notice.
Maybe it's me who doesn't care enough...
With my knife next to me, I am writing this down.
I look at my arm, the blood, and frown.
But as I write, I start to smile.
I could do this for a while...
My cuts start getting deeper, my thoughts start getting weaker.
I write, and write, and write until I can not write anymore.
I bleed, and bleed, and bleed until I can not bleed anymore...
