Bleeding

Won't hurt to be fake, just like them
Burn my stories to your skin.
Fall down to the broken glass.
Let it bleed, down your back.
Perfect smile now shattered, once cracked.
She's held up with holding on. . . . .
And she wont be the last.
Fumble through the dresser drawers.
Let the razors leave their tracks.
In with the smoke.
Don't look back on the past.