Watching your own blood spill
It's a senseless addiction
Something within yourself lures
you back to the blade.
If you're not happy - if you're not pretty
how can slicing your flesh make it better.
You feel hate and anger - intensely afraid.
Picking up a blade won't solve anything.
Spilling your blood won't buy you love.
It won't deaden the pain - the pain always returns.
You cut yourself. Wait for another day.
Cry tears into your open wound.
Wash off your wrists and wipe your eyes -
step out of the bathroom with long sleeves covering.
No one sees. No one cares.
Spilt blood... done in secret.
