Everything looks so pale,
All I can think about is how I’ve failed,
Or at least that’s what you’re saying,
I just site there in the seat feigning,
That I’m listening,
Feigning that I care,
When really only my body,
Is really there.
I’m dreaming of the knife,
I’m dreaming of my skin,
I love the idea of adding the two,
And spike it with a touch of sin.
So when the car pulls into the lot,
My mind is full of glee,
I run up the stairs with ancient delight,
Caring only to make this pain flee.
I pick up the razor,
Instead of the knife,
It always worked better,
My breath feels tight.
Then the razor meets the skin,
And the world is transformed,
Once filled with pain,
Now seems so warm.
I look down and see lines,
So crimson and sanguine,
Brings me to a world so serene,
Where nothing looks like it seems.
All is bright and cheerful,
Not like it was,
Painful and feeble.
All this on an average Tuesday night,
Another reason to give up the fight.
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