My Blade

Is it sad, that this doesn't sting?
Is it bad, that i cannot feel a thing?
I promised i would be okay,
but baby i lied.
I can't help but turn, to my faithful knife.
I'm sick of crying,
Sick of feeling anything at all,
My blade helps set me free,
gives me some kind of bliss,
when my blood runs down.
I know this isn't right,
but there isn't anything i can do.
My blade is always there,
no matter what.
It's always ready to draw on my skin,
to leave it's mark behind.
Please don't be angry with me,
i couldn't stop myself.
Darling, can't you see?
I wasn't meant for this happiness.