A Sinner, I Have Made Poem by Nicky Turner

wet sobby soaking lot of someone else’s lies
I cry for the reason now I sit here and die
Trying to remember the time I was happiest
The tears have clouded over and the thin red blood line dries
The gut ranching feeling that all is meant to die
The greatest artist that is someone else’s cry
The loss of all I feel gone numb inside
Watching the red gush again from the thin straight line
Caused by nothing else but the pain I feel inside
The death and destruction my body seems to take
Puts you all to shame cause I still refuse to die
The thought of you all winning
While I sit in my cell
My own little prison built from my own little hell
The rubbing of my wrist against this perfect blade
Is the feeling of release, the gushing of the pain
The sick twisted looks I get for what I do
Lost amongst the thoughts that I cut myself, it's true
The looks I cop when my wrist is clean and clear.
The thought of what someone else would do whispers in my ear
The crushing of the good little me never took place
There was no good in me, I never was a saint
The cuts straight down my wrist never turned to scars
The best place in my life, which I never realised
I can get away with it and nobody can see the sight
Of my troubles bubbling over and coming into view
The sight of my arms if you could see what I have done
The thought of what would happen to me, already been there once
In the loony bin once before
I’d kill myself then for sure
Couldn’t handle it again
The tool someone sent me surely can be used
But in others view what I do
Is lost to the thought of me as a sinner
Someone who can be saved
They haven’t learnt yet
I do all I can, this is just the life for me,
That me, myself, I made.