Crimson blood flowing from my finger tips,
Biting down till the blood pours out my split lips,
Marking my body with cuts on my wrists,
Later turn to scars like a sweet death’s kiss,
Body image, I hate my body image,
So I’ll take this sharp knife and sculpt my body with it,
Let the blood pool down at my feet,
Shaving off my rotted limbs and my insecurities,
Losing so much blood I might not live for a while,
But at least I’ll finally make a real smile...