I claw my way out of the depths of a dream

To answer the telephone ringing beside me;

I glance at it first: it's your name on the screen-

Just as I knew it was going to be.

So I'm dreading what's happening this time.

I'd thought that perhaps we had left this behind

(The spiralling downwards, the hurting, the crying),

But deep in my heart I know we may not find

That peace again short of our dying.

So I take a deep breath and then answer.

What follows could take up an hour or more,

An hour of convincing, of begging, of pleading.

To figure out what you've done now is a chore;

You sit there (so far away), bleeding.

You eventually tell me the truth.

And always I ask this same question of you,

When we get to the place where I know what you've done-

Maybe because I don't know what else to do.

You can only give one answer. One.

And the question, of course, is "Why?"

You've never been able to tell me outright,

Though I'm certain there must be a reason inside.

It's possible that you can tell me tonight-

This secret your mind tries to hide.

But, as always, you say you don't know.

Well, I do all I can just to help you calm down,

You promise you won't do anything more just now.

We both go to bed, with this shaky peace found

I wake up later wondering, "How?"

And why does part of you want to die?

Well now I've seen it all, razor blades, pills and ropes,

I've seen you with help and I've seen you without.

But the fact remains, each time I get up my hopes,

That a part of you still has some doubts.

And it just won't stop dragging you down.

So I put on my make-up to face this new day,

The cycle of life around me neverending;

Black make-up is perfect when I feel this way.

My eyeliner covers up everything.

It hides the fact that I've been crying.

Black clothes, black make-up to match my black mood-

It feels like a thunderstorm trapped in my head-

And I know there won't ever be anything good

Till the moment I'm sure you're not dead.

So now you better answer your phone.

It's ringing and ringing, and no one picks up.

I stare at the telephone like this is it's fault.

I've tried you again and again with no luck-

Is this all the life that I've got?

Praying, hoping that you're still alive?

So I lay down the phone and I pick up the blade

That I tore from a razor last night in my dream

I admire the dance of the light and the shade

And the war within me they can clean.

And the blade feels so good on my skin.