And now my breath tastes like cigarettes
And I'm just as broken as you
You tell me cigarettes will **** me
So I lit it up two

She paints a pretty picture,
but the story has a twist
her paint brush is a razor
and her canvas is her wrist.

She paints her pretty picture,
in a colour that's blood red
while using her sharp paint brush
she ends up finally dead.

Her pretty pictures fading,
quite slowly on her arm
the blood is not racing through her
she can no longer do harm.

She paint her pretty picture,
but her picture had a twist
you see her mind was her razor
and her heart was her wrist.

One cut feel some pain
Two cuts to hit a vein
Three cuts you're feeling okay
Four cuts for the ****** day
Five cuts your blood flows like a river
Six cuts you shake and quiver
Seven cuts 'what's one more'?
Eight cuts there's a puddle on the floor
Nine cuts you've got a huge ****
Ten cuts you think it's just another cut
Eleven cuts when you get you're relief
Twelve cuts this one extra deep
Thirteen cuts you think you should be done
Fourteen cuts you will make another one
Fifteen cuts for being a failure
Sixteen cuts you still go deeper
Seventeen cuts you can't feel
Eighteen cuts the blood doesn't seem real
Nineteen cuts tears fall as your body does too
Twenty cuts your lips start to turn blue
Twenty-one cuts your mission is finally complete
You're laying in blood as you fall asleep.

And it hurts me
that you're
smiling
laughing
happy

But it's not
because of me

if each and every hurtful thing you said to me
was a cut on my thigh,
i'd have a never ending tragedy dripping from the tips of my finger

They'll check your wrists
But not your thighs
They'll check your smiles
But not your eyes

They'll avoid the truth
And believe the lies

one cup of insecurity
two tablespoons of jealousy
three packets of paranoia
ten ounces of anxiety
a small pinch of pride and
just a hint of insanity

everyone is sleeping
while she remains awake
leaving reminders on her body
of how much
she hates herself

have a friend
treat her such
never let her know too much
for if one day
she becomes your foe
and all your secrets
the world will know

"you've spent
a lifetime stuck
in silence
afraid you'll say
something wrong"

seeing the white lines
of old scars
and remembering
things you thought you forgot

I don't even know what we talk about
I just listen to the sound of his voice and to his laugh
and to the sound of him listening to me

Just a cut
Just a scratch
"What's the mark?"
"It was just the cat"
Just an excuse
Just an another lie
"What's with all the bracelets?"
"Just fashion, why?"
Just a tear
Just a scream
"Why were 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

don't worry about my thighs
just kiss my lips
and hold my hips
and tell me it'll be ok

she has no scars
they think she lies
but they only check wrists
never thighs