The scars on my arms are nothing to me.
They just show me all the mistakes in my life.
I feel no pain.
Well, not anymore.
I save my blood and use it to write.
On paper, to write a letter or for school.
I wont let it go to waste.
The scars on my remind me of the hell I live.
They show me a way out.
They give me peace inside.
I sit in the corner of my room.
My radio up so loud.
Holding my broekn glass in my arm.
Before I use the glass I count.
Theres one, two, three, four.
And now five...