I by no means am the voice of
reason,
I
merely amplify your thoughts and feelings.
I jot them down in rythmical lines on a
page,
So
those who have no clue are able to engage
With what it feels like to have a head full of
war,
To
experience the agro of your heart and mind being
torn.
So this one's for them, it goes out to you
who fail to understand,
Why
someone would tear, rip, burn and cut the skin above their
hand.
It acts as a drug, a release, a soother, a
suppressor,
The
more it occurs, the more it is mistaken for as
pleasure.
As with every drug, it comes with its
addiction,
Even
when the mind is clear, there's a crave for that burning
friction.
You point people out and mock them for being a
victim of themselves,
Without a sense of the stability regarding their
mental health.
What if it was your sister, brother, cousin,
mother or dad?
What
if your mocking is responsible for some of the scars they
have?
How about instead of judging you reduce their
need for the knife?
Go and
be a decent human, go and save a life.
