a canvas on my wrist

A suicidal note, my personal list,

a pretty little picture, painted on my wrist.

Society helped me paint it, one drop at a time,

all because it takes away,everything that's mine.

It takes away my dignity and gives me loads of shame,

takes away my happiness, thinking it's a game.

It brings up mistakes that I'm trying to erase,

taking me out of the shadows and laughing in my face.

This is why I have, my lovely best friend,

it takes away my misery, and puts it to an end.

I forget who I am, and what I have been,

as I bring my trusty razor and slash it trough my skin.

What a pretty picture, all of this is real,

it seems like such a dream, all this that I feel.

All these dreams so frightening, all of it is new,

its more like a nightmare, all of it come true.

Yet it is reality, but I just cant see,

that all of it crashing, slowly down on me.

I'll paint a pretty picture, I think I wont be missed,

so I'll just make a canvas, right here on my wrist.