Little Rusty Razor. (Friend)

One time, turned into one to many. A rusty old razor kept for my flesh. Knowing now that I may never get through this, I now know I can never look back. I rock my self back and forth, the music so loud you cant hear the razor ripping the skin. This is my drug, my high. to feel this burn and see blood rushing out. This is my way out of hell, but the only problem its making me ill. The scars I feel, raised and pink, all on my arms, my thigh, burnt deep into my mind. I keep my friend hidden where they least expect to find, that rusty little razor is ingraved deep in my thigh. When I feel that urge to bleed again, I'll rip my thigh open, tearing the skin just to dig out that little rusty razor, I call Friend. The urge starts, the razor cuts, fine, straight, deep lines, yea Im getting a rush. It feels so good as I add another scar, Iam now having to much fun, the blood will not stop. Iam freaking out, crying for help. No one hears me because I never existed. Now a odor so strong, is crawling out beneath the door. Laying in a carpet soaked with blood, the body daddy once held is now freezing cold. In that room behind closed doors, lays a soul, rotting away, but no one knows. This rusty little razor that I call friend, I pray for a day, a day we can play again.