Such an inconsiderate little bitch
Go ahead, dress as provocative as wish
You only give a shit about your whore ass
Manifesting absolutely no class
You're nothing but useless-slut
Who gives nearly no fucks
About any other individual
Or how they even feel
Maybe try thinking about everyone else
Instead of your bitch ass self
like a pencil to paper,
i held you very briefly
in my hand--
just enough to make (you)
you were firm
in my grasp
i knew i should have
let go sooner
but i had
to get my point across
i dragged you around
in my right,
caressing you softly
across the white
of my papery flesh--
trying to form
the right kind of feeling,
trying to prove
what i had
i dug you deeper
into my skin
but no mark was made
i saw you as
you were dulling,
no longer the sharp
tool that could
write my wrongs
i kept trying
to draw love
but nothing came out
but faint lines
on my pale canvas
where you had once been
i traced my
outline so hard
with your tip
of (go where
i wouldn't have that
so i spun you
around and around
just to make
i drew circles
trying to get you
past my skin
until there was
It takes another's pain to recognize one's own,
Pain as true as the blood that in all veins flows.
I over-judge most unfairly my own vanity,
I believe 'Nothing is really wrong with me.'
For in my mind, my gifts are greater than thine.
My woes, meanwhile, mean not more than a whine.
And yet most irony finds itself hidden,
In the million cuts with which our flesh is ridden.
As your mouth opens to purge,
I devour to satisfy a monstrous urge.
Both caught in the same, unending cycle.
I blanket myself within torment and pain,
Refusing to peek into the ever soft light.
I tear at my flesh with a blade,
Hoping that doing so would end my fright.
I cry myself to sleep using my tears as lullabies,
Only to sleep a nightmare filled never-ending slumber.
I wake forcing my limp body out of bed,
Knowing that by nightfall the sorrow that the day would bring,
Is the only thing that I'll care to remember.
here's the thing
about self mutilation
it kills me
gives me what i need
and here's the thing about self mutilation
the red neediness
the cold pane from windows
i'm covered in it
i'm covered in red
across my eyelids
dripping from the scar tissue
and scars to be made,
and next year and next year
how I've missed you
Starts with depression,
Then comes the self-mutilation
Then comes the day where you've finally had enough,
And you feel like your done,
And you want to leave this world,
With one quick cut.
I could cry but tears don't bring change
Trapped in my surroundings
Why did those words neighbor my thoughts?
I guess words don't make people listen
The people need action
I'm my own minds puppet
Exhausted but not Lackadaisical
Bruised from self-mutilation
WHY WON'T YOU SPEAK UP?
this is just a figment of my imagination
but goddamn if it doesn't slice deeper
than a copper blade upon pasty skin
questioning my worth is self mutilation
if I dethrone myself as the diary keeper
then maybe I will hear freedom's violin