Who Gives a F**k?

(Chorus)

What fortunate gloom,

Such joyful sorrow.

A poisonous fume,

A deadly arrow.

A bitter luck,

Who gives a f**k?

 

I pick the sharpest, shiniest blade,

Before I slice, Mother asks, “Have you prayed?”

I nod my head and ask in shame,

“If I die, who’s to blame?”

She tells me to open my hand,

As I slowly follow her demand

She cries out in frustrated tears,

“This is what you've been doing all these years?

Cutting your skin and creating scars?”

I nod my head as the tears slip far.

 

(Chorus)

What fortunate gloom,

Such joyful sorrow.

A poisonous fume,

A deadly arrow.

A bitter luck,

Who gives a f**k?

 

Locked away, I hide my pain,

In the depths of my bloody vain.

My eyes completely dry,

I have no tears left to cry.

My mother cries herself to sleep,

The wound she feels is way too deep.

I cut too much; I bleed right out,

Is this what life’s all about?

I pop some pills and cut my skin,

I don’t know where my pain begins.

 

(Chorus)

What fortunate gloom,

Such joyful sorrow.

A poisonous fume,

A deadly arrow.

A bitter luck,

Who gives a f**k?

 

Long sleeves pulled past my wrists,

My hands clenched into tight fists.

I fight myself an internal battle,

While I smile and speak senseless prattle.

Mother’s broken and restless,

The look in her eyes completely helpless.

I suppress my urge,

I’m still on the verge. . .

I throw all my blades away,

My world surrounded in a fog of gray.

 

(Chorus)

What fortunate gloom,

Such joyful sorrow.

A poisonous fume,

A deadly arrow.

A bitter luck,

Who gives a f**k?

These scars, imprinted pain.

Author's Note

Lyrics for a song I wrote for people who harm themselves with parents who know, and you try to stop yourself, but it's just so damn hard.