They're Like Me in All the Wrong Ways

I get ready for band,

Exhausted already,

Wanting something I can't have.

I don't want to see my "friends."

I want to see my razor,

Painting with my favorite color.

I want to see these scars open back up.

I want them to take me back to the past.

The present is too much for me.

Every breath is a scream I need to get out.

I can't get out!

I can't feel my razor,

Slashing through my soft, pale skin.

I crave that feeling,

The feeling I desire more than any other.

I want to tear myself apart,

Let the blood soak into the carpet,

Hope it stains,

Hope it all spurts out of me until there's nothing left.

I want to scream until it hurts,
To hit that brick wall again,

Leaving ugly bleeding wounds on my knuckles.

I can always say that one is an accident.

I need them too look like accidents,

To look the way I look:

Invisible to everyone,

An accident.

They do take after me though.

Every single scar

Is a failure.