Oh dear heart,
Tell me why do you get excited,
When nothing lasts,
Why do u want me to let anything in,
If it´ll only cause me hurt,
Why do you cheer for someone,
If you know there´ll be an end
It´s lovely when the heart craves something,
But terrible when that doesn´t last

I’m addicted to the feel of cold metal sliding across bare flesh
Addicted to the instant
when nothing marks smooth skin
immediately before
red rivers rapidly rise
painting a once white canvas
with a flood of emotion,
tears on my cheeks,
sobs caught in my throat,
numbness replaced by pain & sadness.
Addicted to the imperfection
of red welts and dotted scabs that follow,
fingers drawn like magnets
to the texture of healing skin,
tracing over and over and over now fading ridges
Amazed that I am strong enough
to heal myself over and over and over.
Convincing myself that I am strong enough.
I find strength in my weakness.

I know where this path leads.

Stop! PLEASE stop saying "don't."
"Don't give up."
"Don't be afraid to ask for help."
"Don't be sad."
"Don't keep it bottled up inside."
I could go on and on.
"Don't be scared."
God, I hate that one the most.
Like, why the hell shouldn't I be scared?
Look at everything that's happening.
Look, I know you mean well,
But when you say that word,
It feels like you're trying to control me.
And I already feel
                                  So
                           ­        Out
                                      Of
                    ­                     Control.
I know you want to help.
And it means a lot to know you'll be there if I need help.
But I need to do this on my own.

Being in pain but born a guy he couldn’t even cry out in open,
Having no room for himself he hid in a dark corner
Putting a towel into his mouth and over his face
He cried but ensured not a single sound came,
He cried and cried in pain yet it didn’t go away
So he took to pain to make it go away
He began to starve himself so that hunger may make him numb
He then took to beating himself but even that didn’t make it go away
He then tried hurting himself but the pain didn’t stop
Finally at loss with no way before him he took a knife
Sliced through the vein and the pain did end but so did his life.

what does it feel like to be held
not by another body
not by a set of limbs, a chest, a chin
but
by another soul

what does it feel like
to see truth in another pair of eyes
instead of hidden intentions
instead of absence

what does it feel like
to hear a familiar heartbeat
resounding next to your own
reaching through skin
through bone
two rhythms
indistinguishable

what does it feel like
to write poems about
a love that exists