It's scary to think what they'd say if they knew what I thought.
It's kinda funny to think of all the stories they've bought.
Why I do what I do is a mystery all its own.
After all is said and done I'll be left all alone.
The scars from the cuts never seem to fade.
After all the bullsh*t there's more scars to be made.
It feels better for awhile but then it goes back to the same.
Just more heartache and pain, there's no end to this game.
Some tell me to stop but they are only being nice.
If I went to far and died they wouldn't think twice.
But I don't blame them, there's nothing they can do.
They can't stop me because they don't know what I'm going through.
If I could pin-point the pain, that's all that I need.
If I could do that then I would no longer bleed.
But I guess until then I'll just have to pretend.
There's only so much pretending I can do before it comes to an end.
