• That tiny blade
    It sits in the shade
    In the back of my closet
    For safe keeping, I suppose
    Until one day, that blade rose

    Press to the skin
    Blood began to break
    A sence of comfort,
    A sence of hate
    A sence of love
    A sence of everything of the above.

    That tiny blade
    Lets her take a sigh
    A sigh so heavy to stop the tears
    But it brings the fears
    These slinder little red slits
    The ones that haunt her
    The ones that let her rest.

    Press to her palm
    A leak of unlet prisoners
    She does it because
    There was no one there
    No one here
    She was all alone
    No parents, at home
    She wanted to cry
    All she could imagine was to die

    That tiny blade
    Was it her enemy?
    Was it her friend?
    It seemed the only one
    That really listened
    She wished it would speak
    But instead it brings blood
    A chilling shiver down her spine
    Yes, those scars are mine.

    Press to her thigh
    To stop the cries
    To stop the memories
    To stop the feelings
    To stop her heart,
    for just a few beats.
    To stop her nightmares
    as she lay scarred beyond the sheets

    That tiny blade
    Oh, that silver death
    Is it mine, is it yours?
    We think we could never recover.
    We think there is no cure.
    Pull through, the therapist said.
    The pain grew, her pulse no longer read.

    Press to her neck
    That last little slit
    The one that sent me into darkness
    Such a cold, cold feeling
    Complete nothing. Completly alone.
    Her one fear, the one that made her run
    Was now right next to her,
    Tormenting her for fun

    That tiny blade
    It sits in the shade
    In the back of her heart
    Her no longer beating heart.
    A single tear strolled down her young face
    Another death, a save too late.
    Her palm is open
    Her mind is gone
    Her parents come home.
    Shes no longer alone.

    Press to the skin
    She sits in a dark hole
    One that sits close to her heart
    She is nothing now
    Just another body in the ground
    Her parents cried, night after night
    All along, the poor girl
    Wasn't really alone.
    Her parents were always there,
    They had always been home.

    That tiny blade
    Such a cruel, cruel friend.
    The poor girl.
    Such a sad, sad blend
    Scarred for life.
    Scarred for death.
    That tiny blade.
    Oh, that tiny blade..