Slashing, dashing,
The blade through my arm.
Bleeding, bleeding,
I don't know why it works like a charm.
I wouldn't be surprised,
If they'd be disgusted;
They'd want myself revised,
But I'm not just maladjusted.
Wear that mask again,
That mask that hid your pain with fakes;
And try to clean the blood-red stain;
And keep doing so until your sanity breaks.
I guess that words keep me intact,
Even just to reality, I hope.
Though, with my demons, I made a pact;
It's no use; I can't seem to mope.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
Slashing, dashing,
The blade through my arm.
Bleeding, bleeding,
I don't know why it works like a charm.
I wouldn't be surprised,
If they'd be disgusted;
They'd want myself revised,
But I'm not just maladjusted.
Wear that mask again,
That mask that hid your pain with fakes;
And try to clean the blood-red stain;
And keep doing so until your sanity breaks.
I guess that words keep me intact,
Even just to reality, I hope.
Though, with my demons, I made a pact;
It's no use; I can't seem to mope.
Blood spilled is blood spilled
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