Have you ever felt so low you cut yourself?
I have, almost every single day.
I would take that blade, drag it across my flesh.
Like it was normal. It was normal, at least for me.
I would look forward to the scars, the scars that would be hidden for weeks, months but forever loved by me.
Their proof I'm here, I existed through this.
And as they fade, I curse myself. Cut more!
Cut deeper this time, make them stay forever.
Make them visible so the world can know your pain.
But the world mustn't know, this is my salvation of death.
I play with the knifes edges all too much, will I slip up?
Oh please, tell me I'm worth it.
Is it because I'm ugly?
Is that why I'll never make it through this life?
Will I come back to life? Will I ever punch death in the face?
I will, I will again with my time waiting.
My time waiting for the next slice,
Cut and bruise of my skin.
I won't cry this time dear, just you wait and see.
