Oxygen.

"Cry me a river, I've got real problems.
At least I take the time to go out and solve 'em."
That is what I told the youth with bloody wrists.
"People like you are rot in our midst.
I don't care that you can't afford your new shoes;
I don't care about the girlfriend you're about to lose."
I laugh in his face and he reaches for a blade.
For it is one way to make the pain fade.

I am welcomed home with a slap to the face,
a few choice words about how I am a disgrace.
Deep down I am glad this is all there is;
usually there is more that my father gives.
I force back the tears;
along with my fears.
All emotions are hid as I walk to my room.
I know that I will forget them all soon.

As I am home in the dead of night;
inside well known walls I free myself from a bight.
Just like him a razor's what I use
for it is the only way to forget the pain of abuse.
The pain is only slight;
a small sting is it's might.
I repeat the process again;
This pain seems to be my friend.

In all this pain that my nerves set free.
I forget the pain of my days and me.