As suicidal feelings rush in
I try to run away
But they follow me everywhere
So in my room I stay
I grab my blade and sit down
Like I always do
Thinking about my pain
And how its caused by you
I start at the top of my wrist
I cut my way down
I notice my broken smile
Is now a shattered frown
The cutting is getting old
The pain has turned to pleasure
So I stop to think what I should do
and I start to feel the pressure
Should I find a rope to hang myself?
Or go with the sleeping pills?
I'm starting to get some ideas
as my insanity gives me the chills.
Should I take a nap in the bathtub
and let the water flow?
Should I record it on a camera
and make it all a show?
Should I write a pathetic letter
to say my final goodbyes?
Should I draw you a pretty picture
f my body covered in flies?
Should I get a can of gasoline
and cover my body?
Should I light myself on fire?
Or would you do it for me?
Should I just jump off the tallest building?
And end my life quick?
Should I tell you more of my ideas?
Or are you already sick?
I think I'll skip the bullshit
And stick with my friendly blade
Maybe if I cut deep enough
My life will finally fade
I think I'm going crazy
But if I was I wouldn't know
I hate being in this f u c k e d up world
So now I have to go....
