What a waste of a perfectly good, clean wrist.
Why this? Oh why this he says?
I’m an artist I like to say.
But my story’s got a quite sick saddening twist.
My wrist is my canvas,
The razor is my paintbrush,
And the bright red blood flowing out of my broken veins paints my story.

They blame it on society.
They say society’s the reason I’m this way.
They label me dark, damaged, and depressing.
Emo some might say.
But the fact of the matter is,
They blame it on society,
But we are society.

Oh, the music, the music, the music!
Pierce the Veil,
Sleeping with Sirens,
Three Days Grace,
My Chemical Romance,
Breaking Benjamin.
Oh my great escapes from this hell ridden world.
The lyrics equal my story.

The past? Forget it. It’s broken beyond repair.
The present? It's just a living nightmare. Haunted by past mistakes.
But the future? The future it’s untold. It's a blissful secret story waiting to unfold.
Yeah right it’s all a f***ing LIE.

Sweet slit wrists,
A present, a trigger to the mouth sealed with a kiss of death.
An overdose of a cocktail of pills or
A simple snap of the neck.
Oh no one knows I dream about it.

Look at yourself, you’re a mess.
Darling, what happened to the girl, the one you used to be?
Sweetheart, she’s long gone.
She’s been replaced with a girl somewhat like me,
Completely broken and tragically damaged.
The new girl is like a gift that is beautiful and elegantly wrapped on the outside,
Yet shattered entirely on the inside.

Not all scars show,
Not all wounds heal.
Sometimes you can't always see,
The pain someone feels.
Oh darling please remember,
Your scars are beautiful to me.