I slice away layers
of skin wit a blade,
staring at the mirror
and watching myself fade,
I drag it down and watch it gush, quivering and grinning--
savoring the rush...
I let the blood flow
and then wait for it to clot,
this routine is getting much to old, but it seems to be all i've got.
I do it so much that its become an obsession,
doctors and pills just cant cure this depression...
but i dont try to stop it, i think i've made it clear, that just cant
change my love for the strange,
a life without it is all i fear...
So i'll choke on my despair and live on the edge of a sharp knife,
until finally it puts an end to my pathetic little life.
 
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