The blood, the pain... relief?
Of pressure, stress, and grief?
From all your problems and friends?
With the blade, the pain ends?
With a glide, the blood trickles,
And all of the emotion stiffles,
But after that relief is gone,
Do you see what you did wrong?
Do the scars even mean a thing?
Do you even remember the painful sting?
Do your troubles really fade?
Or are they just hidden by the blade?
Or is it that you just want to die?
So you sit there, bleeding and cry?
Is life really that painfully hard,
That you are willing to be scared?
So just talk to someone, and let them hear,
Because, close by, there is a listening ear.
So the next time the pain persists,
Don't take it out on your wrists!