Loves Suicide

A razorblade on my dresser,
cuts from before on my arms.
If i could put pain into words,
I wouldn't have to do so much self-harm.

Self-harm can't be stopped,
until the pain is finally fixed.
But the pain in my life can't be fixed,
and the scars on my arms
can't be erased.
The thing I'm missing most in my life,
can no longer be replaced.

When I need something more then anything,
but that something isn't there.
Then it pushes me over the edge,
it's just too much for me to bear.

As I add a few more cuts to my collection,
my heart faints blank, it's finally lost connection.
and this is loves suicide.