This reflection in the mirror is no friend of mine
the image before me makes me wish i was blind
this hurt inside me needs to escape
but what form of release will i use today
perhaps the razor blade that sits beneath the bed
perhaps the pills that play with my head
perhaps the tears that trail down my face
perhaps the knife that awaits in its place
perhaps the pin that's a clever disguise
perhaps the needle a lovely surprise
so many, which will i choose?
so much time, what shall i do
nobody cares, they don't worry about me
so why should i, they never do see
the sadness which i think is so obvious in my eyes
the lies i tell them which they so cluelessly buy
the shirts i wear that so plainfully disguise
the time i spend in my room where i continually cry
no they are blind, sometimes i wish i was dead
if only they heard what i think in my head
i really hate myself sometimes
but i try to pretend that i am fine
i just want to scream so loud sometimes
but i always find a way
to some how keep it all inside
instead of saying what i need to say i resort to hurting myself instead
