I slice my wrist open and bleed on paper, because i'd die for this shit

words... its suicide, everytime i scribe i drop a peice of my soul on this white peice of shit that you call paper

I call it a canvas, I paint pictures without pictures, so abstract but so concrete an oxymoron of truth

Suicide, each time a word hits a line I kill myself...apart of me is given to my audience and i lose it forever

its suicide, not sin or crime but an act of ceaseing time inside my mind... i create a cypress noose and the diction hangs until my vocal cords strain

the impulses quickly surge through my brain, my pulse is sustained and my heart refrains from beating any longer

my heart's beat is now the crowds, you all own my body for 3 minutes and 10 seconds i am allowed to loan it

a kamakazee kind of situation because i kill myself time and time again for sacrificial resons

like those that beleive you die for what you beleive in, I beleive i die each time to releive the pain of others

I know you feel like you dont need to live any longer, you cant be any stronger, so i'll kill myself writing this peice of passion

not my last resort but a first instinct action, is to commit suicide...I wont take my life but i will give it to you all so you dont have suffer

this is not for you to feel my pain, Baby i feel yours and i apologize deeply...so before you catagorize yourself as a weakling

I will tell you a secret....i am a murderer, because i kill another side of myself every time a peice is written.....

according to what i beleive in this act is forbidden...

but no matter how much i let go, i am still imprisioned...so i let go my all in this message im sending

so as long as they keep killing those trees to produce pencil and paper for me, i'll give you life through my lyrical death....its the truth due to lies.....and as long as they make 2's and composistion books...i'll continue to commit suicide