These scars across my body
brandings from my own kind of hell
if they could speak volumes of history they'd be
but with words I could never spell
When your voice will not carry
the things that you really feel
then what choice is there please tell me
but write in a pen of steel.
Over my decades of living
for healing I have faithfully prayed
but the only healing God seems to give
is with a nice polished blade.
The cuts hurt so little
compared to the pain in my heart
I could paint a thousand paintings
with my blood, a work of art.
So know that I'm trying so hard to live
I promise that this is true
this is my only way to stay alive
its the best that I can do.
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