I ride the wave of life,
But at some point
I schools learn to swim.
I kick and kick and kick
I float then my friends pull me under.
My best friend is my Razorblade.
He’s the reason I’m like this.
The demons follow me around,
Always behind me but like always
I’m the one in last place.
By brain is melting from the drugs.
Pulling at my strains chains
I’m still not going anywhere.
I sit and wait for death to get me.
When he finally does,
It’s down to hell for me I go.
I see my mistakes.
Hurting others was never my goal.
I’m still not sorry for what I said.
I’m still not sorry for what I said.
Not even for the blood you caused.
At the end it’s down to Hell I go.

What is blood's belonging,
When we just cut its supply,
Ending our stream,
Ending our lives,
Lives filled with misery,
Disturbed in despair,
Life is filled with obstacles,
Though everything is fair,
As fair as her skin,
In the sunny skies
Though if you look closer,
If you look at her thighs,
Under the trousers,
As dark as her mind,
Scars dancing,
Upon the streaks of a line,
So what is blood's belonging,
If we just cut its supply,
Ask the girl,
Who drew on her thighs.

Roses are wilted,
Violets are dead,
Leaves fall around us
As something gets stuck in our head.
The light beams onto the silver,
But quickly reflects-
Sooner rather then later,
I'll start to neglect-
Blades are silver
They look good on skin,
But listen before you begin,
Wait until the wind breaks
Before you let the blade
Fall.

I want to cut.

I need to cut.

I miss cutting. 

I miss the scars. 

I miss the voices. 

I miss the deep spiraling depression.

I miss feeling out of control.

I miss feeling. 

Why do I miss being sick?

I thought I would be happy when I wasn’t depressed anymore, but now all I feel is emptiness. 

Where feelings of fear, anxiety, and sadness used to live, empty space echoes revealing what is lost.

I miss it all.
And I know I shouldn’t.