To which demons it may concern;
You know me. I'm your worst enemy.
I'm the sunshine that breaks your attempts at drowning her.
I'm the flower petals that infiltrate the scent of your rot.
You wish me gone.
But understand in turn that is what I wish of you.
You have no right to push her over any cliffs of your choosing.
You have no right to make her feel as worthless as she does.
You have no right to play upon her heartstrings like an overplayed violin.
And if you ever lay a single claw mark upon her skin again, you'll wish you were back in hell.
Because that's way nicer than where I'm gonna send you.
i don't know how to explain it to you
this white skin is a canvas and i want to make it red
the trails of scarlet trailing down my skin,
the gouges in my skin, the crevices
they comfort me
when i see the canyons in my flesh
the hatred is eased and my mind is easier to please
there's a voice in my head that bays for my blood
and a gurgle in my heart that wants to swallow my life
me i bargain with the devil:
the body still lives but it will be broken
and he nods and lets me go and i am free
when the knife comes out and i drag it across my skin
my heart slowly starts to ease
the pain the confusion the frustration
the agony of being awake and aware in this head
it all becomes so much easier when there's some comfort i can see
it cannot kill me it heals with time
pink white faded lines across my shoulders
feel so comfortable and familiar when i'm gone
and my hands start floating away from my wrists
and there's a space in my head where my mind should be
i can't feel my body where is my body
what time is it where am i what was i doing why was i trying
to feel the scabs rocky and hard
i think clearer feel better know more soar higher
when the monster calls and i feel the itch in my fingers
i will do it again and self medicate
to cure the agony in my soul
and my breath will ease out into a relieved sigh
every part of me will cry for this bliss
Scars aren't beautiful.
People won't kiss your scars and tell you it's okay.
They'll say you did it for attention.
They'll say you didn't actually want to hurt yourself.
They won't believe you.
Scars aren't something people want to see when they look at you.
Not what I want when I look at my wrists, thighs, and gut.
Not what you should either.
Why don’t you notice?
Why can’t you hear my screams for help?
Why do you ignore my midnight sobs
Echoing off my cold and empty walls,
Bouncing into the dark abyss of loneliness
Why can’t you see my calls for help?
Why don’t you notice my sliced wrists,
Dyeing every long sleeve in my closet
Staining more than just my clothes
Why don’t you notice the red seeping from my socks?
The makeshift bandages overflowing my trashcan,
The seven pairs of now red high-tops overflowing my closet
Why don’t you hear my silent sobs?
Pulling me deeper and deeper into an ocean of tears,
Consuming what’s left of my broken, shattered heart
Why don’t you hear my midnight thoughts,
Pinning my eyes open until the sun rises again,
Pulling me deeper into the cold pit you call exhaustion
Why don’t you see me?
Do you think I bandage my ankles because I cut them while shaving?
Do you think I wear high-tops because they’re fashionable?
Do you think I wear long sleeves and pants because I’m cold?
Do you think that I can’t sleep because of high-school stress?
Do you think that I am fine?
Why don’t you hear my screams for help?
Why can’t you my screams of silence?
I try to be stronger now.
But I killed my strongest self, several attempts ago
I push it away,
but darkness always returns;
I am reverted to the worst version of myself.
She is 16 and sobbing out her sorrows in her bathtub,
to her favorite razor and a bottle full of pills.
She is self-destructing but, she can't say why.
Someone else's words have cut out her tongue.
Her mouth bleeds out their words against her,
trying to save herself she locks her jaw into a smile, that lies to everyone around her that she's fine.
But, her body fills with their hatred and she learns to loathe herself
Slowly, her heart is smothered and her mind breaks.
She becomes so full that she burst at the wrist, just to get some relief.
I return to the present,
I've made a mistake.
I am too weak again to this world.
I look at myself in the mirror.
I watch the blood on the counter make small pools from my wrists.
And I give into it.
I will never fully be myself again.
I have killed myself too many times,
Sometimes I wish my body wasn't too stubborn to die.