Some take the knife to forget,
and some slit their wrist no matter how great the risk.
Wishing, for a day to come which they cut to deep and have the blade slice the vein just for the feeling of being sane.
Others cut for the blood, red as flames.
Taste so sweet, it can`t be beat.
Metallic, like no other, no use crying to your mother.
View your wounds as they bleed, can`t blame your special need.
Swallow, the precious blood in greed, maybe one day you`ll succeed.
But until that blessed day, you wrap your cuts in dismay.
Even though the gashes seem as if to say, they yearn the end and the grave.
Long sleeves to hide, as your dazed at mind and your anxiety held inside.
Hoping no one will cease to find,
your beating heart that aches and bleeds, and all your very special needs.
