Our
                        Whole
                         Lives
                         Are made
                         Of blades.
                         We couldn't
                        Live without
                        Them. It's the
                        Sharpened steel
                        Doctors us to bring
                        Us into our life.
                        It's the cool metal
                        That cuts the
                        Wood to build
                        Our homes.
                        We taunt with
blades keeping such deadly weapons in our homes. To cut our food, and groom our faces. But the greatest irony      
                 comes from life itself,
                for the very blades we
                     Use to protect and
                       Keep our life,
                     Turned around
                     Destroy our very
                     Being and cause
                    Our lives to bleed
                 From the fatal wound
                      Making the end  
           Harmonize with the beginning

Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your
hair, as her golden locks came slithering
down, a secret hidden.

Razor wire underneath, as it wrapped
around. Controlled from above, it cut
and shredded poor Flyn surrounded by
blonde blades, a smile from above.

A look of fear as her hair twisted tighter,
a thousand cuts, tortured by the girl in
the tower.

Never was it to keep love out, because all
that love has been a mirage of beauty,
hidden was her sin. She preferred to unleash
pain and death to those who thought she
was a prisoner within.

The girl in the tower not as fair as the tale
had once said. Hidden from those that she
wishes to do harm, the bushes fed by the
blood and bodies buried in shallow graves
around.

She was beauty that hid a darkness within,
her hair of blonde hiding death within,
nourished by the blood of those lacerated,
with the blades within.

Rapunzel, Rapunzel in a tower so high, to
keep you hidden from the world, for inside
the beauty is a secret, that is locked in this
tower, forever hidden protecting those from
the fairy tale lie.
.

Dazed, mind filled with xanax dust.
I'm questioning who I am
When I look in the mirror I do not see myself
I see a stranger
With bags under her sunken in eyes
And her eyes, they look sad
Lifeless, dead
And her body
Her body's ugly, fat, disgusting
Covered with marks, scars, burns.
But as I look at this person in the mirror
I am over came with the urge
To hurt her, to feed her pills and potions
Because some how I think I am her
I am the sad girl in the mirror with the cuts down her arms
and the bags under her eyes
I just don't want to believe it
Believe I've wasted away
To xanax dust and cuts.

Are you ready for the show?
Ready for the night?
It's time to cure
Of our impurities

Who said of the famous living dead?
It drowns our thoughts
And invades our heads
Cleaning our faults

Stars shine Bright
Death shines brighter
What's so bad about dark?
It's home

I see the pain in your face.....
But the tears are in my eyes.
I see the blade in your hands....
But the cuts are on my wrist.
I see all the pain in you.....
But feel it all in me.

would you care
if i died tonight

would you care
if i had permanent
tear tracks
down my face

would you care
if you found multiple
razors hidden in every
crook and corner of my space

would you care
if you saw swollen
red slashes
across my body

i would think not
because you caused them
and i hope you're proud
that today
your little sister
dragged a tool across
her skin
because of you.

We both want to point fingers. We refuse to take blame. We adamantly deny it. And in this sense, we are both the same.

But there are motions in our sickness
   (Or rather sickness in our motions)
Indecent murmurs of our shame
But the murmurs stay just murmurs so we can play our little game.

Of facade.
Of charade.
Of telephone lines.
Razor blades.

Emotion.
Commotion.