Love is a rose

Roses hurt here and there

And die without proper care

I am a rose

Who's been treated unfair

Some days I'm emotionally unstable,
Occasionally putting my problems on the table

Needing a friend to see how I'm treated,
In my loneliness ad depression, I feel defeated

Once having brilliant blue eyes,
Now turning red as they dry

Risking my own self to dangers,
Pain, to me, is no stranger

In my silence I will cry,
Never wanting to say goodbye

Just a cut
Just a scratch

"What's that mark?"

"Just a cat"

Just an excuse
Just another lie


"What's with all the bracelets?"

"Just a fashion, why?"

Just a tear
Just a scream

"Why are you crying?"

"Just a bad dream"

But it's not just a cut
Or a tear, or a lie

It's always just "One more.."

Until you die

One cuts

Two Cuts

Three Cuts

Four

C'mon Darling, What's One More?

Five Cuts

Six Cuts

Seven Cuts

Eight

Oh Dear, What A Mess This'll Create

Mirror, mirror on the wall,
I want to be pretty, skinny and tall

Mirror, mirror if I change my hair,
Maybe then someone will care?

Mirror, mirror if I starve myself
Maybe I'll be beautiful, minus my health

Mirror, mirror if I slit my wrist
Will I feel that I exist?

Mirror, mirror don't you see?
What you show is killing me

I cannot sleep
I will not eat
All my cuts
Are never to deep

Mirror, mirror don't you see?
All you do is ruin me

No one cares
Yet everyone stares
Wondering why
The cat scratches all the time

Mirror, mirror can't you see?
All you're showing is hurting me

For far too long, it had watched her cry
So the mirror decided to reply:

"What you think you see?
      It isn't true,
         The misery is found inside you.
      Don't lock yourself in a broken soul,
         Or I promise one day, you'll lose control"

She can draw a pretty picture,
She'll draw it with a twist

Her paintbrush is a razor,
Her canvas is her wrist

She paints her pretty picture,
In a color that's blood red

While using her sharp paintbrush,
She finally ends up dead

Her pretty pictures fading,
Quite slowly on her arm

Bloods not racing through her,
She no longer can do harm

She painted her pretty picture,
But her story had a twist

You see her mind was her razor,
And her heart was her wrist