The only blood on my hands is my own
The noose which I meant to hang myself
Holds the thread that my stitches were sewn
I knew from that very first moment
When I picked up that sharp razor blade
I would deeply regret my bloody mistake
Just as soon as uphoria started to fade
Even after that very first cut
As blood seeped from the new wound
All hope was abandoned of escaping this rut
Because that razor blade had me swooned
Despite this night of my "sweet" sixteen
I am neither happy nor care free
Infact, I am bleeding and lonely
Oh yes, and happy birthday to me
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