Unbearable the pain of man's known existence, our reality is fabricated with distortions designed to weaken your resistance.
To soften that which made man most respected, his truths are hidden and his purpose is neglected.
We have loved ones just to lose, which bears the forgotten truth, that this life is precious and our existence was never absolute.
Our existence is brittle and we are easily mislead,
The knife is too dull so we steadily towards the razors edge.
Quietly in our darkened room we prepare for the end, we listen for true healing while pondering our leaving.
Cold serrated steel slithers against our fleshy beings, a stiffening reminder that the blade is solid and works without hesitation or feelings.
One slit then two, no matter how many times the pains always new,
Turns out your two slits we three, which is deserved for letting some openly deceive me.
Three slits then four, when deep in your mind you should nevermind the door.
Five slits and then six, our arm is numbing, but we've yet to get our fix.
Seven, eight, nine other then the constant shiver we're still fine.
By the time we've reached ten, we've ignored the blood because we're so close to our Zen.
Eleven, twelve should we dare mesh our flesh anymore. Will I be discovered and isolated, with only maddening thoughts like before.
No, cowardice because we shouldn't plan to prolong this living toil. Unnoticeable that are entire limbs are numb and we now shiver under the covers in a coil.
This time there is no high only the frantic shiver and want for sleep, we've made countless of cuts, but never so many as deep.
Respectfully I must accept the fate that befalls me.
Alone in my bed how long will they believe I'm asleep.
One shooting pain from the shoulders and down the next arm.
No one to look for nobody in the confidence of self inflicted harm.
The shivers become worse as fear begins to creep down our spine,
The bright nothingness begins to spread from the left side of our eye.
A calm sense begins to cloud the mind as time slows by, no longer the sense to care of laying in a bed of blood to die. As our soul shakes to detach and dissolve into the all that exist, we question our departure from reality and ask why bother hiding the slits?
Why bother hiding our wrists we must accept our own thought dualities, these slits are reminders that the soul once craved to detach from this reality.
