One cut, two cut, three cut, four.
I've already got a dozen cuts, so whats a couple more?
Five cuts, six cuts, seven cuts, eight.
I have an addiction, it may be too late.
I don't count anymore, because the amount of scars doesnt matter.
Take away the ache.
Take away the pain.
Lave a scar behind, tarnish my name.
Blood drips down my wrist.
And then I may feel better.
But it isn't enough.
Deeper i may go.
Deeper in my thighs.
Deeper in my wrists.
These aren't small cuts anymore.
They're becoming giant slits.
I want to be gone, gone from here.
The addiction has taken over my life.
It's a path of darkness, I can see no light.
Bury the razor deep in my skin.
Goodbye to this world, what a pleasure it's been.
The famous potters daughter is all i've ever been.
The ache, the pain, I was forced to keep hidden.
Why, you may ask, is no mystery to me.
My famiy is far from perfect, yes, that is true.
But we stand together, we always do.
I was afraid it'd hurt them.
Break them apart.
My suicide will make my truest worst fears come true.
Don't make that first cut, It will end you.