the cold metal a cross ur skin the sharp jag as it sildes a
cross ur rist blood rain down ur arms ur pulse gettin high
and the feelin of intesten pain throw ur soul u sit their
cryin in pain you feel as if you need the pysical pain cuz
it hides the  emotial pain knowing the emotial pain harts
more then anything u wood pick stick a knife in ur stomch
then going back 2 that that nasty on 4giiven pain emotail
 
pain the bitter scars of the night be4 still on your arms
but no 1 can see u now 1 nows ur their they care about
alchole more then u and moeny u here them shout and reach 4
ur frind that cool bladed nowin there is no light at the end
of the tunnel 4 u u sit there tryin 2 contrated on the
pysical pain and keep wonderin when it will all STOP.