by lil-emo a good fren o myne.
They always ask me
why do you cut?
But I don’t need a reason anymore,
I’m just stuck in an addictive rut.
I guess it’s just the burn
as the razor tear’s my arm,
it was the blood that spilt from me,
in my early days of self harm.
But three years later
my blood of terror still drips,
because nothing feels as safe,
as those blood stained metal lips.
A razor is ones best friend
I could not wait to shave my legs,
But I defied its moral use,
I used it to slit my wrist instead.
They say is there not another way
but I say no not for me
Because no matter how hard I try,
a cutter is just what I’m meant to be.
So when you see my arms
scarred and torn apart,
dont pull a stupid face at me,
stop, imagine the state of my heart