When the bleeding stops,
I'll look away.
The blade is always sharpest
When I'm numb,
Eager to feel, desperate to hurt,
If only it could conquer
This complete absence of feeling.
--How can you do it?-- He asks.
I guess I'm calling it salvation,
Alone with my woes and complaints,
Plagued with my wretched thoughts of Him.
And He asks me again.
--How can you stand it?--
--Why can't you feel it?--
How can I stand it?
And why can't I feel it?
Now His voice confuses me,
Calling and pleading and desperately begging me.
It pierces my skin, again and again.
I'm cutting, I'm sawing and hacking and slicing,
And I still can't feel it.
So I'll finally look away
When the bleeding stops.