Angel Smith (January 30,1991 / Florence, Ky)

Listening to the love songs on the radio
I stare at the little blade of cheap metal
It can do so much damage
My scars you can see

Yet it's the only one I can turn to
Knows all my pain
Knows my broken heart
And the taste of crimson blood

The pain it causes is welcome
Over the pain they cause
My little friend knows me,
My soul, and eats it up

Sometimes I get smart and don't look
At my little blade, my friend
But I'm so predictable, it loves me
And I hate my need for that little piece of metal

Its sympathy cuts so deep
Body and soul it slices through
And though I hate that thing,
It's my only happiness