Anger and Agony, Depression and anxiety
Criticism and People, Over thinking, The Irony.
The warm blood flow thru' my ice cold veins,
Tears ran down my face as I lifted my head up high.
Considering if I should cut my thighs
Whispering a prayer before I began.
The mind was greedy, It was eating my soul.
For a moment there I forgot all the beauties that life is yet to unfold.
I couldn't speak, My chest was Numb.
I could barely breathe, I really needed a gun.
Forcing my hand's intelligence to make the first scar.
With a old sharpener blade that I took from my cookie jar.
It was iron against Flesh, I could feel the rush.
But this voice is in my head saying "DON'T DO IT" from my crush.
It was hard not to, I could now walk again.
Bringing my left hand to sink, I rather feel pain, That's what I said.
But with no decisions made.
I placed about seven marks.
They were swollen but they didn't bleed hard.
In the scars, My anger was relieved
I felt light, so I went back around the computer before I fell asleep.
I know these scars will remain
Every time I looked on my hand
But my life is not like others who are always playing in the sand...
