One, Two, Three
I'm comin' back so sad and lonely.
Four, Five, Six
This feeling I have is makin' me sick.
Seven, Eight, Nine
My heart, it's filled with things that aren't mine.
I can't help but think that maybe
this wasn't meant to be.
I can't help but think that maybe
I'm alone and no one's left to truly help me.
I want to be the one who's cared for.
I want to be the one he's there for.
I miss the person I used to rely on.
Now I'm just the one he looks down on.
I try and try to change myself
and think of those who have it worse.
But I can't help but stop and think
that I'm the fault of all this remorse.
The meaning of my actions,
there is none that I can think of.
The scars on my arms,
are merely reminders of my deadly love.
The fascination of my own blood,
will clearly drive me to insanity.
But I'm already there, no lie, no joke.
I've seen enough and heard enough
to know what I'm doing isn't just a habit,
it's a hobby.
Something I like to do,
not something I can't stop.
I could stop if I wanted to,
but that would just be a waste of
my own time.
Just because it's the only love I have,
that I know will never leave me
if I asked.
