What should I do?
I told you the truth
And now it's being used
I'm protecting myself with a ruse
To hide all of the lies
And the fact that I cry
As I cut my skin
And watch myself die
But now you're telling my mom
Just when we were starting to get along
I don't know what else to say
But I hope you have a good day

You caught me with a blade
Pressed against my stomach
Drawing blood
You told me Jesus loves me
And world war 3 would stop
If I'd just call out on him

You told me that wouldn't make life easier
But it would help me live
A happy healthy life
But I can't give it up
My attempts at grasping for control

My shirt had blood on it
You watched me clean off the blood
You sighed, and reminded me
That I was worth something
Of course, I didn't hear you

I'm worrying now
That you'll tell my mom
That I'll get shipped off some place
Where they keep sharp things away
My blade has dulled
And so has the pain
I swear, I'll stop
I just needed to feel better

S.C.H.O.O.L.
Several Cruel Hours Of Our Lives
It's not really that bad
But I am obsessing
Must have perfect grades
But I'm too shy to speak up
I have to get my teachers to like me
But I can't open my mouth
I am feeling overwhelmed
But I won't stop caring so much
I'll finish with highest honors
For these cruel hours
Can change your future

I'm getting better
I'm learning how to eat again
The weights are still in my closet,
and I binged again

I promise you
I'm gonna stop
I'm not gonna die
But I think I'll go purge

I swear I'm fine
I'm telling you, I ate
Don't believe me, whatever
But I truly am gaining weight

Okay, so maybe I lied
I don't want to stop
I want to be pretty and thin
And even perfect

What's the point
People die
People lie
People cry
But no-one ever gives a ****

Is it really a life, what you are living?
A slave to numbers and hate,
Turning your body into a machine,
A strange reflection of your turmoil
Tell me, is this really a life?

As you count your grapes into a bowl
Are you really feeling satisfied;
Or as you sit at home denying yourself
The pleasure of company,
Tell me, is this really a life?

Pounding feet matching the stutter
Of your heart, and the blood that
Runs sluggish in your skinny veins
As you run yourself into the ground;
Tell me, is this really a life?

Talking more to the voices inside
Your head than your old friends
Carving away at your skin;
Destroying what little of you is left
Tell me, is this really a life?

Or blindly chewing and swallowing,
Knowing you’ll hate yourself
But needing to feel, comfort is sought
In the numbness of food;
Tell me, is this really a life?

As the inevitable urge overtakes
When you’ve lost control:
You failed, you’re weak and now
As you bend over the toilet bowl
Tell me, is this really a life?

You never stop to think, well maybe
You dare not: you’re haunted
By the idea your time is wasted
So you are wasting yourself
Tell me, is this really a life?

*© Tara India