My heart often hammers, and I often stammer,
As apologies slip from my lips to the air.
Deceptive lies emit toward the despised,
As though the truth that tears is too much to bear.
Too much to bear for them, or for me to bear?
These unresolved thoughts make me pull out my hair.

Scratches upon my wrist align in perfect time,
To be hidden under a long, cotton sleeve.
These marks I hide are caused by the lies,
And often I think I am on the brink to leave,
Aye, I am on the brink to leave,
Determining suicidal tragedy to weave.