We all have a friend Who's silver and shines It pierces our skin And draws the red lines
It leaves several scars Over the years But it lets out our screams As well as our fears
It gives us relief We need the sensation But we keep it a secret We hate the attention
Those perfect red lines They become such a burden But we do it anyway Because we're tired of hurting
Some call us psycho But we know they're all wrong They all know what to be We don't know where we belong
We hide the scars Under jackets and sleeves Our loved ones don't know The cuts stay unseen
We try to act fine So no one'll know But sometimes we slip And the cracks begin to show
Letter from a razor
- by Carrina58
While you were away today, Some unkind words were said. My orders you surely did disobey When you left me on your bed.
I had told you to stay here, To hold me in your hand, But it has become clear; The pain you cannot withstand.
You have wandered into your room, Empty and dull. You are to use me, I presume; I will draw you into a lull.
Your eyes find me and you snatch me up. You lower me to your wrist and make the first cut. There was a time you were innocent; this I did corrupt. Now bloody memories we do construct.
Amusing is your addiction, Your dire need to play. Daily you fill your prescription, And the price you do pay.
Scars marr your once even flesh, Each a memory of a cruelty at best. Some represent a touch of crazy in your head... But with me, we make these thoughts dead.
Run me across your skin again and again, Use me more and more. Now your thoughts will surely blend; The red silk from your arm still warm.
Perhaps you cut too deep, And now you've left for good. Think of it as going to sleep, We both knew you someday would.
Now you have left me all alone When you breathed your last breath; You've been taken far far from home, Now we both may finally rest.
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