Perception is an injection,
of either hope or despair,
and I've come to find that it,
either burns or repairs,

I have a gun to my head,
And I can't pull the trigger,
But I dare you to proclaim me dead,
On this last night of winter,

And my innocence flows from my hands,
I just want to be free,
But there are simply too many things I don't understand,
And there is a battle in my head that I did not decree,

And I thought I had a friend,
I thought I had a lover who had a gentle hand,
Rather than a tongue made of silver thread,
So one after another, the tears I shed,

And I’m being sewn into a quilt of myself,
False Representations are the patterns we use,
And my hope is imbued into the emerald felt,
That is used to seal me into this abuse,

And if only you knew how i’m losing this war,
If only you knew that my personal hell has an open door,
Waiting and waiting, for someone to hear me scream,
Waiting and waiting, for you to rip open the seams,
But I learned a lesson that day,
That not every ocean will have a bay,
So I stand here in defeat, only to fight, rinse and repeat,
I learned that not everyone you meet will leave you complete,

Not everyone you love will stay
Not everyone you trust will be loyal,
Some people only exist,
As examples of a life that is soiled,

And some days I feel it all at once,
Some days I feel nothing at all,
I don't know what's worse,
Drowning beneath the waves or dying of thirst,

I think to myself,
How I wished upon fountains of stars,
Let my dreams come from the shelves,
But it was just a world of wars,

Sometimes I wonder,
How sweet it must be,
To feel all the pain at once,
Then sink into an endless sleep,

So tell me,
One cut,
Two cuts,
Three cuts,
Four,
Tell me…...what's one more?