Small,simple,safe price.
Raise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets.
This is not a small cut,that scrabs and dries,and flakes,and heals.
Im not afraid to die,I'm not afraid to bleed and fuck and figth.
I want the pain of payment.
What's left of pigmy size cuts,much like a slew of a thousand unwanted fucks.
Would you be my little cut?
Would you be my thousand fucks?
And make Mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid.
To fill and spill over and under my thoughts.
My sad,sorry selfish cry out to the cutter.
I'm cutting trying to picture your black broken heart.
Love is not like anything,especcialy a fucking knife.