I like to trace the outlines of the cuts
I like to stare at what I've done
Not in awe
Not because I'm proud of it
(and trust me, I'm not)
But because it seems so surreal
When you've become dead inside
It's the last thing that lets you know
You're still human
You're not completely numb
There is still hope
You just have to keep trying
You will find it
(But I can tell you it won't be in the blood you spill)
May 28, 2012
May 28, 2012 at 12:39 AM UTC
I like to trace the outlines of the cuts
I like to stare at what I've done
Not in awe
Not because I'm proud of it
(and trust me, I'm not)
But because it seems so surreal
When you've become dead inside
It's the last thing that lets you know
You're still human
You're not completely numb
There is still hope
You just have to keep trying
You will find it
(But I can tell you it won't be in the blood you spill)
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