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Cut, cut, little scratch.
'Cut, cut, little scratch. I wonder how you got attached. On this skin so red and clear. Like everything could disappear.
When the darkness has fallen on you. When the silence is becoming true. Then you grab your little knife. And cut, cut to come alive.
Then the voices in your head. Were getting silent instead. They did not know what to do. Without that body of you.
In the night sky you lay there. Under the white sheets without air. Forever shutting your eyes, dreaming of yourself in heaven skies.
As you fell asleep and finally got rest. Now they'll know they got your buttons pressed. Though little sister blames it all on herself. Cut, cut, little scratch.'
-- F.D. Prenger.
My name is a lie
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