Staring into the mirror
dressed in black from head to toe
she no longer trembles in fear
it's not an act and not a show
grabbing her wrist the pain is sheer
wondering why the hell she'd stoop so low
warnings inside she neglects to hear
blood from her cuts glisten as if they could glow
why is she still alive, the reason unclear
the razor is calling,how can she say no
my death i know is drawing near
blood flows out crimson and slow
there's no sound that i'd rather hear
this is one sound i've come to know
cutting through flesh,the sound so clear
enjoying each sting and burn, my self mutilation begins to grow
