they raised you with their shame,
and then they left you with the blame.
you're suicidal, sentimental,
unbelievably temperamental

but i liked your razorblades better than mine-
that shiny steel was just divine.

warped plastic, stretched-out elastic -
all this destruction is ******* fantastic -
and it might just be time to do something drastic.

and then you crashed and i burned,
your stomach twisted and my guts churned.

my body is sore, my mind is aching,
my eyes are tired, but i am ready for more;
i am prepared for the taking.

i'm not screaming or crying,
but i'm sick, i'm sad,
and i'm dying.
and i’m ready and willing, and
i’ll go whenever i’m told,
just say the word, just
make the
cut

the beads of blood swell as you stare at them

death by a hundred thousand little cuts.
death by wind, by fire and ice.
death by life.

you cut yourself into heaps of tiny pieces
and hope there will be nothing left, but
there always is.


s.h.