Small, simple, safe price
Rise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets
This is not a small cut that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals
And I am not afraid to die
I'm not afraid to bleed, and *uck, and fight.
I want the pain of payment
What's left, but a section of pigmy size cuts
Much like a slew of a thousand unwanted *ucks
Would you be my little cut?
Would you be my thousand *ucks?
And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid
To fill, and spill over, and under my thoughts
My sad, sorry, selfish cry out to the cutter
I'm cutting trying to picture your black broken heart
Love is not like anything
Especially a *ucking knife
This is from one of The Used songs called I'm a fake. They are one of my favorite bands and I thought that this had a really great meaning so I thought I would share it with everyone else. I hope you like it and understand it.
