Knives and razorblades are my friends.
A cut here, a cut there,
Dark red blood seeping out,
My jagged breathing, the silence ends.
A perforated scar along my shoulder.
Cuts dotted along my arms,
These scars are ugly.
I wonder if they'll be there when I get older?
Slitting is my pain release.
It feels good:
But I know it's bad.
I just want this agony to cease.
These scars mark me for who I am.
Messed up and Stressed,
Suicidal and Depressed.
There is a slaughter and I am the lamb.