Dads gone out, mums at work.
I'm all alone going berserk.
I need a drink, I must calm down.
I can't think straight, I'm spinning round.

All by myself, I cannot cope.
I feel like I'm made out of dope.
I grab my razor, I need some pain.
I slice deep into my arms again and again.

I need some vodka, and some gin.
I grab a glass and pour some in.
I can't stay with my thoughts much longer.
To deal with life, I must get stronger.

I gulp it down, it burns my throat.
I don't care though, it will help me cope.
Suddenly I feel calm, peace surges through me.
Though pain still pierces my body.

My arms are bleeding, they're burning too.
I've scraped them raw, they're aching through.
The booze has reached my head I'm spinning.
All around me, hope is dimming.

I know through experience it won't last long.
I'll punish myself for doing wrong.
I'll burn my stomach, cut my legs.
Any time now, I'll hope that I'm dead.

Alone and frightened in the dark.
Trapped inside my lonely heart.
The memories that occupy my time,
Keep me locked inside my shrine.

Possessed by my secret devil.
Each day sinking to a lower level.
Oblivious to all instruction.
Hell-bent it seems on self-destruction.

A prisoner of this private hell,
With a bold front saying "all is well".
If only they could see through my eyes,
This evil world I now despise.

Drunk on hate, frustration, pain.
Willing my lips to smile again.
Help me now before I fall,
Give up on life and end it all.

The storm races through my body,
Thunder crashes through my heart.
Lightening strikes at my soul,
And tries to tear my mind apart.

Fear gushes through my blood,
Freezing veins as it goes.
As deafening screams go unheard,
Warm red blood no longer flows.

Trapped between the living and dead.
Never knowing which way to turn.
Others try to put me right.
But it's something that I need to learn.

Something inside me is missing,
I'm not quite sure what it is.
I know it's something important,
And without it I'm in pieces.

An escape you can't escape from,
A habit you cannot quit.
A desperate kind of feeling,
That makes you very sick.

A handful of laxatives,
And fingers down the throat.
As more and more weight drops off,
Gleefully you gloat.

A feeling of great power,
Because you're in control.
The lack of food that you consume,
Gorges at your soul.

With weakened nails, and thinning hair,
You think you're looking good.
Just loose another several pounds,
And you'll look the way you should.

But several pounds is not enough,
Because the mirror lies.
Reflections just can't feel your pain,
They'll never realise.