When the pain gets too much,

And the world seems so cold,

It seems the only option,

As a razor you hold.

Tear through your skin,

Hack at your limbs,

Watch imperfections ooze out,

Through red, blooded skin.

And you do again,

And then do it some more,

And watch blood run off your body,

Upon to the floor.

And you laugh,

And you cry,

And you watch,

As you slowly die.

And nobody notices,

And nobody cares,

You're just another statistic,

With dark, blood-caked hair.