Looking at the outside, can only tell so much.
The way I look and how I act.
But don't take one glance then rush.

Maybe I'm pretty average, not much to this kid.
Watch your words, you don't know me or the things I did.

Sure, scars and cuts fade on the outside, no one would ever know.
But take a peek inside, where the real feelings show.

Pulsating heart, where wounds never heal.
Carried through veins, the pain that's more than real.

Blood flowing, thick and red.
The same that comes from slit wrists left for dead.

They say don't judge a book by it's cover, and that always reigns true.
Would you really want everyone judging you?