I cut myself today,
and the pain went deep,
and gave relief,
but there is another way.

To deal with my self-esteem,
running through the rye,
with a sharpened fillet knife,
the true side of my dream.

And the slash will burn,
ventilating my fading memory,
but the tide won't turn,
facing away from the enemy.

Shunning all publicity,
wrestling with insanity,
and the pain stays with me,
scorching all creativity.

And the casket rolls,
into the shovelled hole,
the genius is gone,
as the catcher grows old.

And I will wear my mourning clothes,
graveyard boots and silver chain,
and turn myself off,
from the sweet new pain.

I cut myself today,
and the pain went way too deep,
the slasher in the eye,
and the scars to keep.