Every day i question my existance,
do I really deserve what I’ve got?
surely there are people more needy than me,
do I care? Not as much as I should.

As the blade cuts the skin on my arm
I feel a release only this can give me
the cold screwdriver feels so good on my flesh
it takes away the pain you supply

The ‘kill me’ shaped scar has faded away.
it will return twice as bad, maybe worse
I put on a brave face to hide it all
but it doesn’t change the self-hatred I feel

My breakdown’s not over, not by a long way
I’m only just starting to crack
if this is what life’s really like
I want it to be all over very soon.