• Every cut
    Every drop of blood
    Makes me think
    Will this be the end?
    Is this hell going to be over now?
    Will I end up killing myself?
    I asked for help
    I didn’t get help
    I need help
    That razor is calling my name
    I’m trying to ignore it
    Its not working
    I’m trying not to cut any more
    I’m trying to get over this addiction
    This need
    For blood
    This want
    For blood
    For pain
    I’m trying to not want
    To pull that razor across my wrist
    To end this life
    To end this hell
    But somehow
    I still want to
    I want to cut
    I want to die
    I want it to be over
    Every time I ask for help
    They say its for attention
    They say im playing a game
    They say its all made up
    I say its not
    How can you make up
    An addiction to cut
    A want to die
    An addiction
    To see red oozing out from my skin
    If they would give me help
    Maybe this would stop
    But they wont give me help
    They keep saying its all made up
    Maybe if I was dead they would listen.
    Maybe if they found me
    Laying in a pool
    Of my own blood
    Not moving.
    Not breathing.
    Just DEAD.
    No longer in pain
    No longer suffering
    Would they wonder why they didn’t help me?
    Would they even care?
    Or would they just move on with life?
    Pretending I never happened?
    Pretending I was never here?
    Or would they wonder what if I helped her?