Last night, or this morning, I did it again.
I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know where I’ve been.
I take a disposable razor, and work to get out the blade.
I let it curse my mind, and I let my sweet smile fade.
I take off all loose ends, and make the blade accessible.
Knowing what comes soon, what will become unforgettable.
It’s been a while since the last, will it hurt more?
Will I be able to stand up tall, or crying on the floor.
Does it bother you to know I’m not as perfect as I seem?
Is it troubling to wish that I could escape inside a dream?
As I let it hit my skin, ever so lightly
I let the blade shine, ever so brightly
It enters me, and makes me bleed
I compare myself to a rose, and how I am a weed.
Does it hurt you to see me full of sorrow?
Or does it make you happy to know I may not be here tomorrow.