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Holding tightly onto my cure...

Something that keeps me alive, I am sure

Without out my addiction, surely I would die

those painful marks are reason I am still alive

pens, penknives and razorblades take the blame..

But still I am the one who takes the shame..

No one seems to understand...

That my scars make me who I am

one cut wont kill me, it will merely keep me going strong..

I wont cut too deep, I wont cut wrong...

Just don’t take away from me my own relaxing relief

Stop handing me all of your grief

Cut another slash into my soul...

Watch the crimson pour out from that gaping hole

Save me and save my life...

That is the job of my best friend, the knife...