I was getting better, until i looked at my scars.
Ones on my wrist, my thighs, my arms.
I know what i had gone through.
And let everyone see.
I didn't care to hide it.
It's what i did to me.
But i saw what it was doing to the ones i love.
And i begged the great Lord to help me from above.
It took a lot of patience, but now i know i'm blessed.
When i was dying, God granted my request.
I've been clean four months now, only slipped up once.
But the voices are coming back and they pack quite a punch.
Why do i miss cutting?
All it makes is pain.
I watch the blood, then wonder what did i really gain?
I did it for a reason, not a good one i suppose.
And that reason will remain untold because nobody knows.