My pockets were full of razors

What I was and who I am.

Things that I thought mattered most 
Seemed to only disappear as I was the host
A meal for regret, despair and anger
I was being my own, personal stranger

Continuous thoughts, feelings and shame
It was inside my head, the same sick game
Showering my pity off the white walls
Cleaning off blood from broken falls

Yes, it seems different, it seems weak 
But the only truth you see, it's meek 
Calling it strange, call it what you please
It will hold me down, but I won't be at ease

I was holding pain on my finger tips
Drinking out of the cup, stitching my lips
And if I could I'd crawl back up, to wake 
This dream, this supernatural shake

But all I have are pockets full of razors
That same bellowing shock of taser's 
Clenching my teeth, at the very thought
But it was the same feeling, You all bought 

Can you believe I use to be that same body?
Crept myself inside a soul thats not a somebody? 
I was a girl who kept razors in her pockets
And can only try to keep a dream in a locket.

I'm the who, the what and the why
I'm no longer a show you can just go buy
I'm the body you accused of being something
I'm the one who you thought I was nothing. 

Author's Note

Only feelings of my life, thought I should get things off my chest.