So they cut
These words
Like the blade that sung your melody
As you cast it from your razor
Or your plethora of phrases
Come backs
Snarky remarks
And stainless steel
Like frost bitten angels we wail
And spit words like knives
If insults could sever arteries
We'd be less
Left
For dead
So we cut
With shaking hands and quivering jawlines
We cut with our moms good sewing scissors
And bitter cusses
And self defecating tunes
To save our souls from being cut by someone else
We are our own
Worst enemy

Wind up that music box
Listen to it ****** away
Pass me a mink blanket
And all night I will stay
Play with my hair
What little I have of it
You don't need to do much
Just hold me, come, sit
Pass me a pen and paper
You know the deal
Listen to the music box
It teaches me to feel
Kiss my forehead soft
And stroke my arm slow
For these are the comforters
That help me when I'm **low

When you are sitting with
beautiful people, and
you still feel sad,
does that say a thing about you?

Well, if you're asking me,
I don't want to be nervous anymore.

Maybe I can't tell my friends
that I'm happy because
last week I found myself covered in mud
and still didn't feel as *****
as the days I found myself
still trying to wash
your fingerprints off.