Hate, hate, hate.
That's all you feel as you cut away the pain,
you don't listen to your brain,
only watching the blood trickling our of you skin.
You know you'll never win
the game against life
as long as there is a knife.

Isn't it ironic?
That to end pain I cause it
and no one knows since I don't fit
the stereotype description.
Maybe I should get a prescription,
,but only the metal is calming
,but only the blood is warming
,but the only thing that can subsidize the pain in life
is the knife.