Trying, struggling to be perfect or at least to be right.
You fake it till you make it, but you can't win this worthless fight.
At times you think you're prevailing, leaving this feeling of gloom.
Two steps forward, three crumbling back and it seems that your thoughts don't have room.
Room to escape your flooding mind, filled with thoughts to paint your arms in red.
Logic in your head fights hate in the heart, so torn you could pass for dead.
But this is a secret, please hold it tightly, I can't trust myself while I'm healing so I'll trust you.
Help me grow from this habit and kiss the scars that cover the veins that are healing too.
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