Pay attention to the secrets of life in this one. there are 3
Hiding lies between the blue lines
a mixture of regret and art
caught in between pain and comfort
Confusing my words with these two
Calling it "My own poetic suicide"
So I cut my wrist...
I'm bleeding ink,
as words seep from my head out of
my vains onto this tattered paper
I call it my master piece
I call it bleeding ink.
We all call it our own little
Poetic Suicide