The cuts march up, one by one, I try to hold on, but I'm already gone. One becomes two, two becomes three, It's already taken over me. Three goes on to four, and four on to five, I often question why I'm alive. Five, then six, then, seven, then eight, I'm just filled with so much hate. Eight into nine, nine into ten, I know I'll kill myself, the only question is when. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, all I see is my razor's bright sheen. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen scars, each one burning bright like little pink stars. Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen tries, I've already whispered my final goodbyes. Seventeen, eighteen, just one more, I'm bleeding out on the bathroom floor. The cuts march up, one by one, I try my best to hold on, but I'm already gone.
