I am depressed; Iím in a rut,
So to feel alive I make a cut.
It feels so good, so I make one more,
Then two becomes three and three becomes four.
This is so wrong but it feels so good,
Iíll have to stop, I know I should.
With the buzz from each cut, I some how escape,
How did I get in to this pitiful shape?
For there is no one with whom my troubles I can share,
Every one only pretends to care.
And this is the only release I can find,
To escape reality, relax and unwind
Itís a sad reflection of the state of my life,
That to escape my troubles, I resort to a knife.
You see I hide my depression behind the smile of a clown,
Like the joker in the pack I never frown.
And from this terrible state someday Iíll be free,
But I will forever carry these scars for all to see.