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My razors are trained to mark a surface |
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Every time |
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I fall it forces me to punish my skin |
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Remorse has proved to be a sadist |
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And I don't care at all if people see the shape |
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I am in Day by |
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Day another conflict causes to cut the flesh |
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And if these wounds fail to show the truth |
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I got to cut even deeper |
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The scars are true art of expression |
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Signs of tragedy |
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With no doubt sick -but keeping alive |
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My way to let out all aggression |
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A different therapy |
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Possible with the blade of a knife |
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But I can't find my soul . . . |
