People think cutting is a joke, it's for attention
Self harming is a game,
We have no sense what we're doing
It's some kind of art, that we do just for fame.
They don't know what kind of things we have been through,
No one bothers to ask if we're okay? Or what's going on in
our lives and brain.
People think we're mad,
They push us aside, and verbal abuse is all we gain.
We live like innocent criminals, and the world is our jail.
We murder our feelings every day for the ones we love,
But getting a tiny bit of love in return is just another fairy tale.
People think we're worthless piece of shit,
We lost hope for good,
We're considered as the piece of puzzle that'll never fit.
Our heart screams for help every minute, but no one hears.
At last we end up on the floor,
Letting it all out in the form of blood and tears.
They don't know how it feels,
Getting mentally hurt every moment,
and going down under the thin bars of steel.
The pain is unbearable, it hurts like hell.
We're tired of doing it but we can't stop,
That's all we can tell.
It's not about how hard the world is,
Or how sharpe the blade,
It's not about the blood we lost,
Or how the scares will hardly ever fade.
It's about being strong,
and never letting those heartless monsters win.
Telling them that we don't give a shit on whatever they say.
Making them realise how unluckily cruel they are,
For being the reason for the scares on someone else's skin.
