The clock on the wall
The knife in his hand
The screams from his soul
As the blood ran down his hand
Another night of pain
The night so alone
Inside this quiet empty house
Which he never called a home
The pain of his life
Builds like a wall
Building higher and higher
But never seems to fall
He tries to get out
But only ends up in more pain
No one to turn to for help
As his body shakes from this strain
The only comfort he has
Is a blade stained in red
Turning to it every night
Hiding the pain that’s within
He cuts and he cuts
Till he is a mess
Blood on the floor
But now he can rest
He does this every night
Will he ever win this fight
For now time can only tell
As he wonders through this living hell

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