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Saturday, November 20, 2010


Blood runs out of these cuts,
The knife I used now shuts,
Cutting to get away from my emotional state,
Is cutting myself my very own fate?

Blood drips down to the bathroom floor,
Knife 1, Kenny 0 is the score,
2 inches, every single one on my wrists,
More blood comes out when I squeeze my fists.

In a depression over the beautiful one,
All I see is darkness, there is no sun
Aches in my body cause my heart is broken,
In my ear, the tempting devil has spoken.

Can't stop, I just keep on cutting,
This addiction of mine is so cunning,
Will I still live after this next cut?
I'm getting a woozy feeling over my body and in my gut.

Starting to loose control, I fall to the ground,
Loss of hearing, there is no sound,
My cuts run deep inside my skin,
Self-mutilation is my number one sin.

I've gone out cold, there's no stopping death now,
My light's gone out, look at me, I showed you how,
Death's messenger comes and puts his arm around my shoulder,
My name is now in the committed suicide folder.

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