When the razor doesn't hurt anymore,

When you can't do anything to even the score.

Your heart is jet black when they don't come back;

You're always wondering what you lack.



The blood trickles down your arms as the tears do down your face;

You're the one, you're the disgrace. The wasted unit of space.

You're the black sheep and your wool is tainted,

This image of macabre has been repeatedly painted.



The pain in your heart has left you battered and slain;

But in edgewise, the last thing you want to do is complain.

So you **** it up and you smile; that ought to hold them off a while.

You want to scream with every excruciating mile.



Finally you let the scream escape your heart;

That's when the bloodshed does start.

Your screams only grow in volume from here; the stabs you feel are just like spears.

You just can't take it anymore, it's not like anyone can hear.



You take this knife, six and a half inches long; you hold it to your throat in despair.

There is no feeling in the world you would dare to compare.

Drag it hard, make it count; a loved one you will always be without.

That's the one you've been crying about.



The scarlet sprays; a gorgeous colour.

Your body hidden alone in this cellar.

Your heart, stagnant and deathly black.

No one knows, but you aren't coming back.