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Brenna Comer Mar 2018
i was stupid for placing my worth
in another person
i know i was

but i can’t help it
your embrace was so soft
how could it not be genuine?
Brenna Comer Mar 2018
i’m caught in a metaphor
a convoluted whirlwind
of words
and emotions
Brenna Comer Mar 2018
why is every poem about drowning?
crashing, falling, dissolving
why is everyone drowning?
an entire generation
pulled in by the tides of mental illness
why do we all hate ourselves?
was it the way we were raised?
or are we proof
that the theory of evolution is false
if survival of the fittest is true
then why do so many of us want to die?
a generation of sad
sad kids
betrayed by the chemicals
in their own brains
crying out
for seratonin
Brenna Comer Mar 2018
the scabs heal
leaving behind faint pink marks
over time the pink fades
only saying hello in the shower
you’re proud
because you’ve been clean
for over a month

but out of the corner of your vision
a silver gleam catches your eye
your blade lies on your desk
whispering sweet nothings to you
gingerly, you pick up your razor
and tenderly ****** the edges
caressing the red tinted tip

first you tell yourself:
“i’ll only make a scratch”
which progresses to
“i’m fine as long as i don’t bleed”
“**** it”
as you slice yourself like bread
and warm blood drips down
alongside tears
for you’ve relapsed once again

— The End —