It feels as if I'm addicted,
A pin cushion for pain.
I always go back,
Hopeful and trustful in that things can change.
But I only crawl away,
Hurt more than before.
Beautiful red marks
Become real on my wrist.
I always go back,
To the ones who hurt me.
I don't know why,
I blame it on caring too much.
I care too much for them,
And never myself.
Beautiful red marks,
Become real on my wrist.
I've been destroying myself,
Stress, pressure, heartache.
Late nights fixing problems,
Addicted to music.
They repair me after you break me,
But I always come back.
Beautiful red marks,
Become real on my wrist.
You repair,
And you break.
Yet this process has become repetitive,
I repeat the steps in memory without notice.
But why do I do this?
Why does this happen?
Beautiful red marks,
Become real on my wrist.
