So you asked me about the scars on my arm
and this is my answer if you’d really like to know
it’s kinda hard to explain though for someone not
knowing these kind of feelings
someone that doesn’t have these torturing cries
inside their head, inside their body
condemned to listen to endless accusations
endless sense of guilt from within
I’m repenting for my sins
for not being whoever the voice within commands
for not being someone people like
you have to understand that every step I take is wrong
that every word I say should not have been said
all of this leaving me all alone in a bubble of despair
with an awful feeling inside – such hollowness
a feeling that makes me wanna scream
so intense, shaking through my body
but I cannot scream, she won’t let me
I cannot even cry for she’s holding back my tears
so as you may see I cannot flee from this mistake
a mistake made because I’m so stupid, so hypocritical
I cannot pay with words, cannot pay with tears
there’s no way out but to pick up my knife
for all she’s asking for is blood
every drop of red making my mind rest just a bit
until it’s all gone, my punishment fulfilled
my control regained
you may think I’m crazy, maybe you still don’t understand
but just one more thing before you walk away
these scars are witnessing about my troubled mind
every cut on my arm tells a story
and the next time we meet then take my hand
turn my arm and look again
find the scar you saw that night
maybe touch it again for it was made for you…
