I am feeling just a little self-destructive.
And I’m confused as to why it is that I live.
I just wish that I could be somewhat constructive
But I still have nothing more that I can give.
I just feel like running, jumping off a tower,
At least then it would be over when I hit
But there is not clean way that I have the power
To end my life and to still get away with it.
I don’t think that if I disappeared tomorrow
Anybody would go out to search for me,
Besides, I’m to busy drowning in my sorrow.
For anyone else to care how I may be.
So if you ever want to know how I am feeling,
Open up my hands and check what you do see,
If the skin is dead and ripped or torn or peeling,
Then you know the wooden man was cruel to me.
Yesterday I made a discovery twisted,
That the razor hurts a lot less then the knife.
As a payment for all the pain I created
I came one step closer to ending my strife
I feel as though I have no one left to talk to,
Because that is what I said that I did need.
But just maybe that was just in case I go through
Worse than cutting both my hands until they bleed.
So I’m feeling just a little self-destructive
And I wish that I would bleed a little more
All I do ends up being counter-productive
And my death is all I know can set the score
Yes I’m feeling just a little self-destructive,
And I’m not sure if I still do want to live
There’s still one thing I can do to be productive,
With my life as the last thing I have to give.