Razor Blades and Blood Stained Doors

My room is now a catacomb

Full of blood stained doors.

My heart is now a cut up mess

From razor blades galore.

You claim to really care,

That you want to clear the air,

But if that were true

These cuts wouldn't be because of you.

Razor blades and scissors

Wouldn't sit around.

I wouldn't have to wash my floor,

To cover up the stains,

Crying without a sound.

No one is around to help me.

No one here to kill the thrill

I get from bleeding on the floor.

Staining my room

Door to door.

Blood is everywhere.

Why should I care?

I'll end my life soon enough

Letting go really isn't all that tough.

If I can handle the blood,

If I can handle the hurt,

I can handle my dead body

Being laid to rest in the dirt.

Just grant my last wish.

Make me one promise.

Take a picture of the razor blades;

Remember the blood stained doors,

So when I'm dead and gone from this world

You can remember you're the reason my body is cold.

You can remember you're the reason for this.

You can remember me.