Cutters Anonymous

We are that silent scream, blowing through the breeze
We are that left out crowd, always watching you
We are that creeping feeing, when no one else looks
We are those special people, the ones who know the truth

We are the nobodies, with bloodshot weary eyes
We are the forgotten faces, with now personalities
We are the flesh carvers, filled to burst with hate
We are that spreading illness that carries the disease

We are the flying colors, with quickly falling grades
We are the final words, written on torn up pages
We are the burning embers, of long dead memories
We are the lost aspirations of generations of the ages

We are the cold glares, both to give and to receive
We are the bloodied scars, covered by long sleeves
We are those crying souls, been left out far too long
We are the dead bodies, at out funerals no one grieves

We are the chosen ones, who hide away at lunch
We are the empty feelings, knowing nothing of hope
We are the broke hearts, sick of the rejections
We are cutters anonymous, and this is how we cope