I am a leveller,
Trying to take my iternal pain,
And release it to the outside.
But there's so much,
A world full of pain,
All directed towards me.
So many words stabbing me,
What can I do?
I rely on a blade to bring me to life,
To save me from cutting my last vein.
How can something so destructive save me so?
How can it help me see the sky?
For an instance, I can feel peaceful.
During the day, I'm always at the edge of my seat,
Holding my mask up with my last strength,
Throwing in false humour and laughter in this concoction.
Cutting brings me back into my real self,
It relaxes me.
When I see my blood flowing freely,
I know I'm actually here.
That this isn't one of those sick dreams I have.
The stains verify what I fear most,
They show me that I'm still alive.
Oh, how can I pine for death so much?
Why can I never reach what so many other people are?
I'm sick of caging myself inside,
I'm hunting for a lock,
A lock concealed in a blade.
Deep red waiting to be freed,
With every slice,
I hope to free myself.
No such luck.
With a sick grin on my face,
I close my eyes and wait for Death's final call.