I filled in my lungs with cigarette smoke
Then bathed my body with water; it's cold
I closed my eyes, and I heard my self broke
With walls breaking down and tears I can't hold
Whispers came and they had bothered me then
Matched with headache and undying flu
Funny how I felt like caged in a den
A soul behind an eye none can see through
So I took a blade and I nursed my burns
Carved out shapes that looked like comets and stars
The blade skidding in every twist and turns
To be called art when they turn into scars


But right now I am wishing myself dead
To get a pistol and blow up my head