A blade, a razor, a knife, a rope.

I'm all alone,
in the corner, on the floor,
just me, only me,
behind this locked door

behind this door lies the real me,
only the thoughts of suicide for company.

a blade, a razor, a knife, a rope,
all of these are there when i choke.

always lying on the floor,
always locked behind this door.

I'm always asked questions about the cuts on my wrists,
the scars on my arms,
the burn round my neck.

I'm always asked questions on why i do it,
my answer always is ' it don't matter, for get it

I'm always happy and crazy at school,
I'm always the one acting the fool.
but thats not me, not the real me any way,
the real me is the one i want to disappear one day.

a blade, a razor, a knife, a rope,
one day the won't just leave a mark.
they will do there damage,
worse than any other time,
my life will then come to the end of the line.