Written on my wrist, in a form of art.
Just to show how much I've broken myself apart.

A picture so perfect, painting trails of blood.
Dripping down my arm, a never ending flood.

Just another slice, watch the red shade flow.
Releasing all the memories i never could let go.

I sit and watch every drop pour.
But somehow, someway, I'm still wanting more.

More than just to watch, as i cut open each vein.
As the blood starts to fall so does every ounce of pain.

As i count my cuts, I'm overwhelmed by glory.
These words spell out my lifetime story.

My blade sits back on its shelf
With my wrist still stating i hate myself!!

 
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