My wrist is the canvas, the razor my brush.
Nice and slow, there is no reason to rush
The blood is the paint, all deep and red,
With a kiss from your lips - nothing is said.
I begin to cut, nice and straight,
I cut a few - but it's too late,
Someone has come and stopped my art,
They shot me down, and stole my heart.
It was what I lived for - nothing else,
If only they had known how I really felt.
I could handle it myself,
I didn't need someone to try and help.
To put me away and take my pride,
They told you I needed this - they lied.
They told you I was sad and wanted to die,
If only they knew - it was all a lie.
I cry at night, and want to go,
But I never said my brains I'd blow.
I bleed at night, to let things loose,
I never said I'd put my head in a noose,
Like Peter Pan, out my window I'd leap,
But I'd never press the razor too deep.
The pills I take make me sleep-
I never said I'd take the ones I keep.
If only someone would take the time,
And realize I'm a trapped mime,
So much emotion and no one to tell,
So much sex, and so much to sell.
People won't notice I just need love -
I don't want to die, maybe just a hug...