When i make the cut

I think about all that i said
yet i feel even more dead
it seems that i just can't get a grip
on this messed up, horrifying trip

the life i once had is gone
all that was right, is now wrong
i just can't seem to do things right
I'm left to ponder alone at night

then out comes my infamous blade
then my arms i do degrade
my self respect bleeds itself out
along with my present doubt

the doubt is that I'll be okay
that I'll make it to the next day
and when i cut, i know i lost
i paid the price, a hefty cost

I'll never make it, I'll never stop
i cannot make the blade drop
it hurts me so, but comforts me
and from its grasp I'll never be free