How deep does your happiness go
Through the skin you must burrow
With sharpest razors to make you bleed
Searching for the pleasure you so need
Satisfaction runs through your veins
Yet it's release leaves you drained
Your red water streams present euphoria
While the scars leave you in paranoia
Your arms speak volumes of desolation
Written with thirsty razor serrations
Whether frequent or far between
You seek bliss in its iron sheen
What a shame your happiest dreams
You believe lie at the end of the stream
Growing up I've meant various people who cut. Seeing their scars always made me feel incredibly sad knowing they've been driven to such a point to use cutting as an outlet for their emotions.