Every time I do something wrong
The knives all seem to know
When I’m clearing out the dishwasher
The blades almost seem to glow
They all look so inviting
I really have to test
How sharp their little edges are
Against my trembling wrist.
But only when no one’s around
And I am all alone
In case my family catches me
And my cover will be blown
I don’t know whether or not they think
That I really am all right
But rest assured, I’ll tell you
That every day’s a fight
I’m nowhere near being okay
But living with my hell
Alone is easier than shared with them
And so…I’ll never tell.

A/N: True. I don't leave a mark but I like to touch them to my wrist when I'm upset. It's a little scary clearing the dishwasher then. What if I go crazy and really hurt myself with the knives? I'm nervous until I'm away from the kitchen.