A day can be really long, if there is nothing to distract.
I can't control their behavior, just how i react.
But in the end I'm still the one with the broken heart
And feeling the urges, to resist is hard.
I wanna slit my throat or at least my arms,
Do it on places where no one sees my harms,
Do it often and in many ways.
My mother cries for me when she prays.
I choke myself, I neglect my needs,
I take drugs, full weeks without sleep,
I don't tell them all this shit.
It's lonely every time I try to commit.
But worse are the wounds that don't show,
These wounds bring me to my mental low.
They sit deep inside my chest,
Deeper than the actual wounds on my breasts.
Freie Texte
