Emily's wrist

by Aaron Hister
(Chicago, IL)

They cut me like Emily?s wrist
they see my shine, empty me quick
Red, sticky
Pain?s dead quickly
Eventually I will die from these intense and deep slits

Cover me in black clothing
Future fear of past loathing

Self hatred you help make it
Never hear from me a again like a yellow yell faded

Emily?s sad, ?Why do they make fun of me??
Crying to the sky people calling her a wannabe

Go into the bathroom get the razor out the drawer
Burns from the Marlboro squeezed out a ouch or more

Pour a shot of Wolfschmidt
Thinking bout the ?cool kids?

Looking at her punk locks
that same ol' razor bumps Nas
Black clothes pink hair neighborhood not one shot

Cocaine stains her brain
Match the blood under her nose
Blood on the sleeve of her clothes
her mom?s questioning who she let in her home

head for self destruction my body?s Emily?s arm
the razor is this life God sending me harm

some people don?t know where they want he hurt to go
well I?m just Emily?s wrist waiting for her to cut it vertical

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