Looking down at my hands,
I can see the power they hold,
The ability to show strength,
Or bring pain to the body, mind, and soul.

As I stare at my hands,
The makers of pain,
I wish to myself,
That those scars weren't the same.

As if I didn't feel
Mentally disfigured enough,
Now physical deformities
Brought upon me too;
I've had enough.

I can’t stand how I look,
I hate the way I feel,
I can’t take the judgment,
It’s too personal and real.

I feel like my brain is imploding,
It’s quickly shutting down.
I can’t help it
But my brain’s first reaction
Is to block out all sight and sound.

I watch those faint markings
As they dance around my hands,
They remind me of who I was
And where I've been,
But not who I am.

Those markings resemble
The battles I've lost;
I always tried to win,
I've always put up a fight
Regardless of the eternal cost.

Those lines and patterns,
They show where I've come from,
But not where I’ll go,
But then again,
At this point,
Who really knows.

Addicted to the bottles,
Addicted to the pain,
I'm addicted to you
And it's driving me insane.
These ***** are my only friends,
They bring me warmth inside,
I think to myself,
"If I keep drinking, pretty soon I'll die".
The thought of death
Doesn't bother me,
It doesn't frighten me;
Rather, it brings security.
How will I go?
Overindulgence,
Or too many pills,
It wont be long before we know.
These thoughts run through my mind,
While I put on a fake smile,
All the time thinking of death
Or dying in just a short while.
Painkillers numb the pain,
But not for too long,
Pretty soon more pills are in my hand;
I take them to stay strong.
With bottles lined up,
And pills scattered across the floor;
A razor blade to the wrist,
My body propped up against the door.
Our lives aren't long,
Though life is the longest thing we do,
But I can't find the point of living,
If I can't be with you.