What started as nicks
Slowly turned into cuts
Grabbed my jacket to hide them
Hid my clothes stained with rust

At first it was scissors
I Upgraded to glass
But the cuts were too shallow
And the pain wouldn't last

I found my first razor
I was a little to bold
Cut deeper than ever
And my fingers ran cold

I first called it "coping"  
Used it when I felt bad
The deeper I made them
The less I felt sad

But now that I'm older
I've come to realize
It's more an addiction
I even cut when I'm fine

It's the legs that I stand on
I'm the worm in its clutch
So I'll continue to please it
And hide clothes stained with rust