I've got scars that cover my skin, thoughts that feel like a sin. I get pleasure from an old rusted razor, thoughts that go silent as it pierces my vein. Got this self-inflicted gunshot wound, pain that won't seem to go away, I almost didn't live to see another day. I'm battered and bruised, so broken and used. They say that I'm insane, that I'm to far gone. They say that I'm to far in the past and that I won't last. They think they know me so well but they don't know me at all. I'm lost with nowhere to run. I know that I am shunned and no one approves of what I've done.