It's hard to tell your friends when you're feeling pretty bad
And elaborate on the situations that have made you sad
It's even harder to tell my Father just yesterday I felt like dying
Yet flawlessly and effortlessly I can tell my Psychologist without trying

It's ****** isn't it? That I trust a stranger more than the family
I grew up with, lived with, the worst parts of a better me
Some days I look around and ask myself if I am proud of
What I have achieved and whether or not it is enough

Satisfaction from the parts where I know I've done well
Disappointment at the aspects that will **** me straight to Hell
So I question life, I wield a knife, makes me so depressed I self-harm
So now you know why I bear the scars, up and down my arm