Silver hits my eyes,
Such a beautiful tool for my suicide,
Talked myself round a thousand times,
But that’s not gonna happen, not tonight.
Stroking such shallow lines,
Watching crimson trickles slip and shine,
I guess that I’ve simply lost sight,
Of the mediocre point that was my life.
The steady flow,
Of my liquid lies,
Shades of the rose,
Fall from the light,
And the stream slows,
I know that it’s my time,
The pain seems to go…
Finding it hard to stand,
I drop to the floor, blade in my hand,
It makes it easier to understand,
If you put yourself in who I am.
So before you demand,
I get back up, walk a mile through my land,
Then dare to tell me that I can,
Stop the pain in a way other than… this.
A river runs,
From my cold hands,
Drips from my thumb,
And pours to where I stand,
What I’ve become,
Is something I can’t have,
I’ve got so numb… |
