The time and place,
Which I'd used to hurt,
Both physically and my emotions,
Though they'd not a trace,
I'd feel like dirt,
You did not see,
My so called comfortations.
But now that you know,
I've only stopped there,
So now I'd rather draw,
Than to make a slit,
Rather write of care,
Than of what you saw,
Even though it'd never show,
It still hurts a little bit.
I'd hurt today,
But you would only care tomorrow,
After all my pain and blood is gone,
And I'd lie dead on the floor,
Because of all my bitter sorrow,
I'd wait 'til coming dawn,
But I'd of died before you say,
The words of love forever more.
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