WARNING: Triggers for self-harm, suicide, etc.

I thought of knives as angels and razors as loved ones
I imagined them dancing around me, just having playful banter
And to me that's what ended my life

Sit at a desk, pull up a chair
Write the diary of my life as I haunt those who taunted me
As I become as tainted as they made me

I thought of blades as family members and my home was my scarlet skin
Knives slipped and scraped over my clean wrists
I was forgetting to remember who I was and why I was here

It's not that easy to breathe with a noose around your neck
Like it's easy to bleed when a thousand blades scar your skin
And it's easy to choke on a million pills

What a waste of a lovely face
What a waste of my white canvas wrists
What a waste of what I could've been.