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kamika austin - death lyrics
i want to scream
i want to cry
and i hate to admit it
but i want to die
i want to stop this constant hurt
to stop the voices in my head
to never get out of bed
to stop cutting up my skin
like it’s paper
the blade a pen
but i’m an artist
and i can’t quit
every cut a step closer
to finishing my artwork
and once i finish
the lines soon fade
till little white lines
are all that remain
and if i make a mistake
i cut and cut
till blood covers up
anything that i made
and then i’ll start over
onto a clean slate
and when the lines heal
i’ll trace them sometimes
depression is here every day
and it never goes away
go away! i yell into the dark
as if someone is there
i feel as if i’m a prisoner
in the dungeon’s lair
and as always, no one cares
do i dare?
dare to care about anyone but me?
could it be
someone there?
someone there to care?
no, just an image
that’s the way it will always be
no matter how hard i try
i just want to get by
i go through life day by day
i thought pain was supposed
to go away with time
but it’s not
it’s still here
here with the fear
fear that i will get hurt more
i want to scream
i want to cry
and i hate to admit it
but i want to die
i want to stop this constant hurt
to stop the voices in my head
to never get out of bed
to stop cutting up my skin
like it’s paper
the blade a pen
but i’m an artist
and i can’t quit
every cut a step closer
to finishing my artwork
and once i finish
the lines soon fade
till little white lines
are all that remain
and if i make a mistake
i cut and cut
till blood covers up
anything that i made
and then i’ll start over
onto a clean slate
and when the lines heal
i’ll trace them sometimes
days of endless struggle
more hopeful pills today
trying to appear “normal”
in some sort of way
it seems that the struggle
is always here with me
and i wouldn’t be here now
if guilt would leave me be
i know there’s been many
who’ve had it worse than i
but that doesn’t always mean
that i wouldn’t say good-bye
people say i have a lot going for me
i’m sorry, but i just can’t see
i can’t see because my worst enemy
is not my life but inside of me
always on a roller coaster
not much consistency
i’m nothing if i’m not up or down
i’m nothing if just “me.”
very little energy
wanting to stay in bed
wishing to be enthusiastic
instead of feeling like i’m made of lead
wanting to be excited
wanting to care for more
but when nothing makes sense
it’s hard to focus on the poor
cluttered mind, cluttered thinking
it’s hard to keep in touch
with what is happening around me
and not to worry too much
i feel that everybody is better than me
and that i can’t do anything right
this is how i’ve felt my whole dang life;
it didn’t just start last night
no confidence, no self-esteem
everybody else is right
to speak my mind is to be a fool
so i just try to “sit tight.”
any one of these problems
would be a heavy vice
but when you have them all
living seems like a roll of the dice
i want to scream
i want to cry
and i hate to admit it
but i want to die
i want to stop this constant hurt
to stop the voices in my head
to never get out of bed
to stop cutting up my skin
like it’s paper
the blade a pen
but i’m an artist
and i can’t quit
every cut a step closer
to finishing my artwork
and once i finish
the lines soon fade
till little white lines
are all that remain
and if i make a mistake
i cut and cut
till blood covers up
anything that i made
and then i’ll start over
onto a clean slate
and when the lines heal
i’ll trace them sometimes
each day i live, the pain consumes
what little sanity i have bloomed
like walking in a cloud of fog
falling down, sinking into smog
life just seems grim
i think on a whim
interest lost in everything i do
but what a life, who really knew?
depressed to a fault, that’s all i see
death just seems like the only way for me
a waste of time i feel i am
but that’s its nature, a full mind-jam
i try and try to ease the pain
a fallen effort with no gain
thoughts begin to eat away
makes me want to end it today
uncomfortable around others for the way i feel
i pray and wish this all wasn’t real
life just seems more like a prison
caged, alone, an abomination risen
no one could ever understand
why i would want my death sooner than planned
it’s not something i want for me
but to end my suffering this is what has to be
so i write this all as i fall from grace
down to this place, some barren waste
i know not how much longer i will last
but all i can do is pray that this will just p-ss
i want to scream
i want to cry
and i hate to admit it
but i want to die
i want to stop this constant hurt
to stop the voices in my head
to never get out of bed
to stop cutting up my skin
like it’s paper
the blade a pen
but i’m an artist
and i can’t quit
every cut a step closer
to finishing my artwork
and once i finish
the lines soon fade
till little white lines
are all that remain
and if i make a mistake
i cut and cut
till blood covers up
anything that i made
and then i’ll start over
onto a clean slate
and when the lines heal
i’ll trace them sometimes
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