People ask me why I cut my own skin
It's kind of hard, but I'll try to explain.
It's like a pressure inside me,
And there's no way to let it out
Except to cut my own skin
And let it bleed out.
I like to watch my imperfections
Bleed out from my skin
Letting out all the horrible feelings that I have within.
But when I'm done--that's it.
I don't feel any better
I tell myself I'll quit--
Find new ways to cope when I'm under the weather.
But I keep going back
To my lovely razor.
It has everything I lack,
It makes me feel better.
So, you see, it's not something I can control.
My razor is almost like a part of me
It's like a piece of my soul.