And I can feel it. The sinking. The slowly slipping deeper and deeper.
That knife is in my room.
Hope is tattooed on my wrist. I can cut write through it.
I am tired of it being there.
I am tired of it being there.
Sinking. Slipping. Deeper and deeper.
Despair.
I am tired of it being there.
Just a line.
Bleeding red. Watch it drip.
That knife is in my room.
Whats another scar.
Whats another scar if it is the last.
And this ship is sinking.
No one is pouring buckets of water back into the ocean.
Just let it sink.
I am tired of it being there.
