She's singing to dies and rhyming with knives.
She's singing with how to dies and rhyming with her knives.
She's singing with how to dies and rhyming with her knives.
To many lives to be lost to you.
They say your just blue.
Not fragile too.
When instead your just a good actor.
Cutting should not be an acttracter.
Depression is just a factor.
Depression is like selling your soul to a contractor known as the devil.
Which could only end in death or a disaster.
Who is the master of your life, the devil or you?
"To cut threw your flesh is not right." They say.
But there words are weak and meaningless compared to your demons.
You cry at night while you go to your treatment which is therapy.
Cuts are not currency but you cut like a greedy person is with gaining money.
Your drawn to the knife like a bear to honey.
Your fragile and the slightest of action of a person can change your mood drastically.
But only when negative resulting in a calamity.
This poem is a poem of whispering with how to dies and cutting with the knives.
Knives to flesh, flesh to mind, mind to demons, demons to how to dies.