When the blade hits your skin
You don't feel it as a sin.
Your thoughts turn dark
Leaving their mark.
Eyes filled with rage
You feel trapped in a cage.
Your smile turns sinister
As you block out the minister.
The blood continues to drip
And you bite your lip.
The more you think
The less you blink.
The deeper the incision
The limited your decisions.
The more blood that falls
The more you block out the calls.
Your vision blurs
But you don't wish for a cure.
Finally, you're alone in your shell.
Knowing, this, this is your own Hell.
