Sitting here,
alone in the dark,
waiting for the pain to start,
red covered knife,
in my hands,
makes the pain,
mine to command,
tears wont come,
they wait for it too,
for the pain to start,
when the lies seem a little more true,
I don't make a sound,
except for a little moan,
when the blade enters my skin,
sweetest thing I have ever known,
wish I can keep this feeling,
near to my heart forever,
but I know it's best to stop now,
and try again later,
stare at myself from the ceiling,
all bloody and bruised,
from the outside you can't tell the truth,
of just how much lies can hurt,
I wonder just how many salty tears,
it will take to wash off the dirt.
 
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