I walked into the kitchen,
All I could hear were my parents bitching,
I was so sick of this fucking life,
So I rushed over and grabbed the knife,
I ran up the stairs and slammed the door,
This was in the morning around four,
I sat on the bed holding the knife to my wrist,
All these dark thoughts clouded my mind like mist,
It always seemed like it was my fault,
According to my father, it was always my fault,
I'm a failure, loser, faggot, and geek,
Another name I get called is a freak,
I drug the blade across my arm,
And I felt so numb I couldn't feel any harm,
I couldn't feel pain; I was finally free,
Maybe this is the actual and true me,
I kept cutting and cutting; I couldn't stop,
My bowl I had was overflowing at the top,
Yes I had a bowl; I loved the taste,
I couldn't let my precious blood go to waste.
I loved to drink blood; it was my own substance,
Every time I would drink it; I would turn into a nuisance,
All of the sudden; I saw a white, bright light,
Yep; you most likely guessed it right,
I finally did it; I ended my miserable life,
And it was all because of that little kitchen knife.