Don't want to die but doesn't stop me trying
A few small scratches upon my arm
Before the knife does real harm.
They will huff and puff and kick down my door
Run in and wrestle me to the floor
Strip me naked and take me away
At least I have company the rest of the day.
But listen up its time for class
They will not find every piece of glass
No one looks, each will pass
I've got a shard rammed up my ***
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Getting there, one step at a time
The knife-edge glimmers With a promise of release From pain, passion, love-unrequited, I know how it feels; Cold blade slicing hot skin, Warm rush of blood, endorphins kick in, And I yearn for that...
Pigs are coming to stop me dying Don't want to die but doesn't stop me trying A few small scratches upon my arm Before the knife does any real harm.
Is this the part where I try to tell a funny joke to break the ice. I proceed by telling you all about my childhood and how much I hated life. Or should I tell you about all the times I felt alone.
#household Sometimes I wonder if anyone would care if I died. I stare at a blank wall with a knife in my hand. My mind screams cut. But my heart says put the knife down.
Tears burned as they rolled down her cheeks. Thoughts pounded through her head after every heart beat.
Every scar on my skin leaves me a memory of my past phycological issues. Phycological Issues that used to make me cry Myself to sleep at night and where id hold my teddy bear tight.
The knife lay flat. On my desk. Right before me. My choosing of when. The knife that. Holds all my pain. Releases it from me. For one small moment, again and again. The knife has a cutting edge.
A shot is a shot, it doesn't matter from who's gun it came. I can't breathe when I think about it, I can't breathe. A leaded weight ties itself to my lungs and I just can't breathe.
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