Crybaby

The wound doesn't hurt anymore

The cut no longer bleeds

And I'm starting to worry

Well, I usually lose my knife

And I begin to doubt my sensitivity

I'm very screwed

And I feel so lost

In a sea of ​​meaningless memories

Writing things that I don't even understand

But no one must know what may be in my mind

In my art it is evident

Everything that goes through my mind

How much it hurts

How much it overwhelms me

How much it costs me to accept my present

But so many memories in such a short time

It is a very horrible pain that only I understand

Since I'm living it

I'm leaving it

And I am left with the uncertainty that everything is going to hell

And that's just talking about how my arm doesn't hurt anymore.

I don't want to say that suicide I have considered

I won't talk about what my drawings are about.

But I can't do anything about it

The dysphoria, the anguish, the torment is eating away at me

How I long to cut my wrists

See the red poison running down my arms

To then be cared for and feel loved

I have to hurt myself to feel affection

But at the same time I want to be ignored

I would like to never be seen, to stop being questioned

I hate seeing them cry and asking me my reasons.

I won't bother explaining it, I know you won't bother understanding it.

Forgive me mother for what the war did to my body

You should have raised a girl, I should have been a better son.

But the anxiety of my insensitivity kills me

And there are horrible things I've done with this gun

I feel like there's nothing they can do with my soul

Stained with disgusting fluids called self-hatred

I can't talk anymore, I never knew how

Eternally trapped in oblivion

I want to see that I am able to find a way

Give my existence a meaning

Feel something and know that I'm still alive.

-Burn!