I can smell the smoke It lingers And I need a razorblade So soft, so cool, so delicate So sharp Dragged across my skin, so much pain So good I've run far away from my problems Only to come back again To the same girls, the same places The voices which have shrieked, asking for blood Until I give it to them and it stops The smoke only clouds it away for a minute The scars wash it away for hours Only my tears can heal forever But they won't come My finger twitches for something hard and sharp The sight of my own blood calms the paranoia I can almost taste the sea of red Salty, sweet, and dead
5/3/01
