I have people to support and impress and make proud
I don't have the time or funds to afford breaking down
So don't take me seriously when I consider the knives too long
I'm an adult now, won't use the pain, am convinced it's wrong

But I do bleed pretty.

I bleed deep red, it's mesmerizing, stains the floor and bed
I bleed like molasses, slow drops hit the ground like lead
I crackle like a fireworks display, bubble up into vertigo
My vision gets hazy and the colors smear and the light glows

But everything gets better and I'm completely reformed
I'm no longer lonely or depressed or feeling unbearably worn
I don't choke back sobs when I'm in a crowd or at home
I don't stare at nothing and feel impossibly alone

But I do bleed pretty.

Now, I'd never touch a knife, never would go back to those days
When blood meandered down my arm in a thousand different ways
I'd never think twice, never consider diving into pain
And no knife on earth calls with a sugar-sweet whisper of my name

I am happy in what and where I've chosen, would never trade
I have no second thoughts, regrets, no uncertain days
I enjoy life, can't begin to fathom why I ever wanted it to end
I am satisfied with the lack of people I have to call friends

But I do bleed pretty.

A drop on the floor becomes a puddle so fast it intrigues me
One towel becomes four, it still smells like copper, isn't clean
The sound of a blade gently coaxing skin apart is bliss
Only heard when blood rushes in and out and all is quiet.

I do bleed pretty.