When I cut, I know it will not fix anything.
But how can you tell me it is wrong?
How is it so much different then how you are?
What is the difference between you and me?
Why is it considered so dangerous?
So, wrong and immoral?
Why is it classified as such?
It is not any different then you.
You who goes home and cries alone
You who picks up the bottle to solve the problem
You who patronizes difference because you are weak
You who does not know me, and therefore should not judge
The blood will come so strong and the metallic scent will fill the air.
People will scream, I am ashamed, and I will hide what I can.
Is it wrong to want to release the pain, the hurt, the anguish?
Or is it just because the self mutilation is considered extreme?
Some will question my sanity as I hide my tears with my smile.
Some will say I am off my rocker but I just sat down
Some will never know how I feel
Some will care just because they do know.
The searing pain will tear my flesh, but I will not shed a tear.
How can you cry when you forget to breathe?
It will tear through me; it may be the last step before I step off the edge.
The edge between the insane and the happy
So what if I fall who will be there to catch me?
So what if I die?
So what if I cut to remind me who I am?
So what?
