would you?

Rise the wake and carry me with all of my regrets, this is not a small cut that scabs, and dries, and flakes, and heals.Would you be my little cut? Would you be my thousand fucks?And make mark leaving space for the guilt to be liquid. To fill, and spill over, and under my thoughts... My sad, sorry, selfish cry out to the cutter. I'm cutting trying to picture your black broken heart. Look at me: Can you tell, by the way i move and do my hair? Do you think that it's me, Or is it not me? i don't even care. I'm alive, i don't smell, i'm the cleanest i have ever been. Just look at me , look at me now, i'm a fake.