cut
Like a snail on a razor blade, I too hear this call,
Is my life a subtle thing, at least until the snail falls?
Colors leaping, Lions sleeping, tide is rolling in,
Is my life pre-ordained and is it the original sin?
A razor makes precision cuts, knocking at my door,
Ignoring it I prepare a slit, I now watch the blood begin to pour.
Pooling on the table, droplets fall here and there,
The carpet soaks it up so nice, I haven’t got a care.
Self inflicted pain is slow, so slow it seems time has stopped,
Parrafin and safety pins, join the pleasure as I drop.
My heart starts beating slowly, my vision comes and goes,
A few more cuts, the telephone rings, everything is slow.
My ears they start to ringing, like a crack hit held too long,
My pulse gets more irregular, Debbie Gibson sings a song,
The time I have is getting short, my death it will prevail,
People running round the house, my ships begun to sail.