In my heart there are knives
dug deep underneath my skin
blood pours on the inside
but on the outside everything seems OK
blood begins to seep out of the little pours in my skin
a tingle runs down my spine
a blade is put to the test
to the vein of my arm
deciding weather or not to cut the wrist
everything telling me what to do
in my head there are voices
these voices speak to me saying
things i wish i never heard
in my heart there are knives dug deep into my skin
blood begins to poor from my pale skin.
