You talk to me about him the same way you used to talk to your friends about me.
You tell me how much you love him the same way you once told me.
You have the same look on your face when you talk about him that you used to have when I was your closure.
You smile the same mischievous way when he's mentioned that you used to when I called you "Little one" or "Princess".
I notice all these things. I've known you for so long I can tell the thoughts running higgledy-piggledy in your pretty little head simply by glancing at you.
I notice all your unsaid emotions, all your burning desires.
But you don't notice, however, the pain invisibly written on my poker face.
I'm trying to hide it, probably even doing a great job at it, but how come you're so dumb you don't notice it?
How come you don't even think about the holes your dagger-like words have left in my heart?
How come you seriously think I'm gonna give you advice on another man when the one in need of advice is me myself?
What the hell are you actually doing to me?
I've been told that shedding blood is a sin
I've been told that shedding blood is a sin But the red lines so beautifully decorate my skin.
YOU did this to me, I wonder why it's still called SELF-harm
YOU did this to me, I wonder why it's still called SELF-harm It's like you forced my right hand with the blade onto my left arm.
They all tell a story, each and every scar;
They all tell a story, each and every scar; The story of how the fuck I've got this far...