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Logan Cestare Jan 2019
I'm drowning under the waves
Gasping, grasping for breath

While everyone watches five feet away
Screaming "Learn how to swim!"
Logan Cestare Jan 2019
I blacked out
But he was still awake.

He was awake
While I was asleep.
The worse half of me
He uses emotions to do everything

I wouldn't have been able to tell
He was even awake
But he left me some stuff
Five new poems, five new cuts.

Blake's the nocturnal one
While I spend my day taking it all in
He spends the night letting it out
It being blood, negative emotions and tears.

But when he comes out during the day,
He's dangerous.
He's self-destructive.
And I can't really control him well.
Logan Cestare Jan 2019
One cut, two cut, three cut, four!
The raccoons are back once more,
So let me see what I have in store.

Five cut, six cut, seven cut, eight!
Who do they appreciate?
Just as long as he's not late?

Nine cut, ten cut, 'leven cut, twelve
How much further will we delve
Another bottle of liquor comes of the shelve

I can no longer count the lines I've made
These little boys I've never betrayed
They're the only ones who've stayed

Crimson for company, just you and me
Let's go on and spill the tea
As you hop and shout in glee!

And as I pass out, falling on the floor
You want more than ever before
I just have a little more, I'm sure

And when I am finally drained
Look back at all that you've gained
It becomes me that you've disdained.
Logan Cestare Jan 2019
Sun
She looked at him like he was the sun,
In that she never looked at him,
Except out of frustration.

She complained when he was gone,
But she never looked.

On days he was stronger, she hid from him
On days he was muted, she complained.

She never looked at him until he was leaving,
And in the beauty of the sunset she wondered how,
She'd never seen him before
Found this on Tumblr a while ago, felt I’d share it
Logan Cestare Jan 2019
Do you remember,
The first time someone called you a name or an ugly word?
How it wormed its way inside your head,
Like a maggot?

Nobody mentions how sometimes,
That maggot never goes away.
How it grows and grows,
Into a demon.

Nobody mentions the screams that bounce around in your head,
Pointing out every flaw and imperfection.
Nobody mentions the way silence feels like poison,
Thick and burning every inch of you.

How loneliness is like a hot iron,
Being pressed all over your skin.
They never tell you what it's like.

Nobody mentions how odd your fingers feel,
Shoved down your throat for the first time.
How it feels to be knelt over the toilet,
Forcing yourself to ***** your entire last meal.
For every meal.

Nobody mentions how you'll feel like you're on a podium,
Everyone freely seeing, freely judging every imperfection.
How they can point out every extra pound, stretch mark and scar
With perfect eyesight, perfect accuracy.

Nobody mentions how even doing things like feeding yourself,
Become chores.
Or the sound of your own retching, or anyone else's, for that matter, Echoing around the bathroom, akin to a gunshot.

Nobody mentions how it feels to cut for the first time,
Or the second, or the third.
How the blood will drip down your arm,
If you go deep enough

Or how addicted to it you can become,
Like it's some sort of lifeline, when, really,
With each cut you make and each blade you use,
You're losing time, you're losing yourself.

Nobody mentions how it feels to sit in your room, alone,
On the edge of your bed, on the edge of suicide.
How it feels to wonder if you matter.

Nobody mentions the way it builds, tight in your chest,
Like someone's taken a rope around your lungs,
Pulling tighter, and tighter, and tighter
With every second you still question everything,
Every second you're still breathing.

Nobody mentions the weight of the pills,
Once they're in your hand.
They hold your entire unexplored future.
It's no wonder they feel so heavy.

Nobody mentions the way it feels to go to sleep,
As if it is the last, wondering,
Will you make it to tomorrow morning?
Praying you just don't.

And Nobody mentions the soul crushing despair,
The disappointment when you open your eyes the next day.
Logan Cestare Jan 2019
I'm sorry for being selfish
Sorry for prolonging your suffering

I'll let you take your life.
For peace to finally settle in your heavy heart

Because I guess I now realize
Suicide isn't about not wanting to live.
It's simply about not wanting to feel pain.

So it would be extremely selfish of me
To prolong that pain.
The peace in your bones
Would be greater than the pain in my heart.
This poem may be controversial but so am I so eh.
Logan Cestare Jan 2019
When I was eight,
I thought I'd be the happiest soul out there
I was smart and funny and athletic
Everyone loved me

When I was ten,
I had the most friends out of everyone
I wouldn't let a speech impediment stop me
I had an amazing poetry class
(Maybe that's why I love this site more than I love myself)

When I was twelve,
I had a smaller, closer group of friends
I had a girlfriend that I had loved
And grades to boast about

When I was fourteen,
I didn't have many friends. I had a new girlfriend
At least I did good in all of my classes still.
I was confused to hear that people were depressed

And now, now that I'm fifteen? Where do I even start?
With the constant mental manipulation
With three of four girlfriends?
Where the cutting started and grew?
A failed suicide attempt?
Grades slipping, friendships ruined?
Trust lost, almost running away twice?
But nah. I'm not depressed. My parents insist it.

When I was eight,
I thought I'd always have a friend I could trust
But here I am now, not even trusting myself.

When I was ten,
I thought there were only happy poems
But here I am now, writing this.

When I was twelve,
I thought that one special person would always love me
But here I am now, with 4 bitter exes.

When I was fourteen,
I thought I'd never be depressed,
But
Here
I
Am
Now.

Now that I'm fifteen?
I don't even know what to think.
Whatever it is, there's an 80% chance the opposite will happen
So I think I will commit suicide before I turn sixteen.
But then again, 20% is still a reasonable statistic.

Anyways, point is,
Never in my life, did I, Logan Cestare,
Think I'd be sitting in the bathroom
Cleaning up my own blood that I spilled
At three in the morning

Never in my life did I think
I'd turn out this way.
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