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Gemma Sep 2012
I am overly fascinated with self destruction.
Anything that could harm me, catches my eye.
I think it, dream it, breathe it.
Hurting myself has become everything to me.
I am obsessed and that sickens me.
I want any escape,
any way to be anywhere but here.
And at the same time,
all I want is to stay in my same miserable place.
I am unlovable.
Gemma Mar 2012
Sometimes, it’s all I can to do breathe.
So don’t ask me why I’m not smiling,
And don’t tell me to be happy,
Because you don’t know what it feels like
To be suffocating.

Every time I look at him, I start to die all over again.
I’ve made it a few weeks without this spell,
But it’s grabbed me again,
Somehow. And it’s never gonna let go,
Not this time.

I can’t breathe.
I’m drowning in ice water
And I can feel the numb tingling of the cold
Dancing on my fingertips.
Finally, I can escape, even if just for a minute.

But the numb doesn’t last forever.
I jolt awake and take a second look at reality,
Only to find that my tears are still real,
And he’s still ignoring me.
That’s when I reach for the scissors.

Now I can escape for more than just a minute.
My wrists are all bandaged up
And so is my heart.
But as soon as someone asks what happened,
My heart breaks free and shatters.

When did I become like this?
I used to look at girls and say
“I will never be that girl.”
I wasn’t going to be the girl
That sat in the back of the room.

I wasn’t going to be the girl
That didn’t talk. That didn’t laugh.
I wasn’t going to be the girl
That spent every other day in the
Guidance counselor’s office.

I wasn’t going to be the girl
That people called suicidal and emo.
But look at me now.
That’s right. Take a **** good look.
And tell me what you see.

Be honest. What do you see?
Am I desperate? Look in my eyes.
Am I scared? Look in my soul.
Am I broken? Look in my heart.
Now you tell me.

But no matter what you think,
I’m the only one that knows the answer.
Because, guess what?
You don’t know me.
Nobody knows me. Nobody knows the real me.

Not even him.
But he’s the closest.
So why is it that I can tell him
Just about everything
Except for the thing that means the most?

Oh wait, you don’t know all the answers.
Actually, you don’t know any of the answers.
You think that you can give me some pills
And tell me to get a social life,
And that it’ll be all better.

But, sweetie, you are so far from right.
All I want to do is sleep.
I want to sleep forever.
Just lie in my bed and live in a safe world
Where no one wants to try to fix me.

But here, here in this ******* up version of life,
Everyone is trying to fix me.
“Are you still cutting?” “How’s the medication working out?”
Get away from me. I hate you all.
He cares too little and they care too much.
This may be triggering to some people and I really don't want to hurt anyone, so please if you have issues with self-harm or suicidal thoughts, and you are easily triggered, don't read this.

— The End —