Feel the dull but sharp, pins and needles pain of new cuts.
The worst is on my hips, a new place for this ****** up girl.
I see the cuts on my arm, the checkerboard I’ve created out of skin.

Would you like to play chess with me?

The deep and wide cut created from needed control of the cutting.
I feel the words carved into my body, the new one on my stomach, “****.”
All the words are true.
All the words are true.

All of these **** words are true.

Cutting.
            The release of emotions,
                   The control of emotions,
                           The object of emotions.

So many reasons and so many stories.

Carved into my body.

Dying alone is the secret of life.
It’s what everyone does but no one realizes.
Gather together your thoughts and dreams one last time.
Nothing known and nothing unknown of death.
Infinite wishes of dreams not found.
Thankful for the dreams you were able to make true.
Y**ou die alone after a life of dreams created with lovers and friends.

Eventually all these
Negative things will pile up and
She'll lose her mind.
She has nothing to live for.
So why doesn't she cry?

They hate her and probably wish they never had her.
She's sorry.
She's sorry for it all.

If she ended her life right now,
Neither of them would even shed a tear.
For all their sadness, grief and unhappiness,
Would be gone...
Dead;
Killed.

At her own hand.
And she'd regret it not.
For now, at least, she can be at peace.
She CAN be loved and she will.

And there, at least,
She won't be thinking suicidal thoughts.

I laugh to replace the tears I need to cry.

I tell you it’s dark inside 

You say turn on a light

I say it hurts my eyes

I’ve gotten use to the dark 

I can feel my way to my heart 

And lay down on its surface

I can tiptoe my way

Around hopelessness 

Slip on a few things 

But not fall

But you’re still new to it 

You still trip on my

Newly discovered fears

Still drown in my overwhelming 

Sea of sadness 

You've gotten bruises

From slipping on my silence 

You have fallen on my weariness

And I’m sorry 
I never meant for it 

To swallow you too 

Loving you makes a difference 

But you can't fix a ****
With nothing but a twig 

You can take a horse to a spring 

But you can't make it drink 

You can love me all you want 

But I have to learn 

To love myself 

Enough to turn on the light 

I will try to ease my eyes
to the light 
But fire eventually burns out
Even candles know that

I’m sorry I’m not okay 

I wish I was

If only it were 

To be well enough 

To look into your eyes 

And not feel like I’m drowning

To be able to feel 

The trace of your hands on mine

And not wish you didn’t have to

Feel the scars 

I’m sorry I’m not okay 

I really wish I was 

If only to be able to tell you
How much I love you 

Enough to not die for you

Enough to live with you

I wish I could tell you what is in my head.
Not just the emotions but the stream of words I never said.
“**** this ****,” and “**** it all.”
“Go to Hell,” and “You’re an *******.”
Sometimes to the people walking down the street.
Often to my family sitting watching television.
But mostly to myself when I’m looking  in a mirror.
To myself though, I say the words out loud.
I also include, “I should just die.”

I walk the aisles of the store searching my list and the shelves.

I search for ingredients to cook some food.
I search for fabric to create and sew.
The things I search for I never find.

I do not search for first aid supplies to repair my broken skin.
I do not search for sharp objects to break my hidden skin.
The things I do not search for I find in minutes.

I leave the aisles of the store with items
to destroy instead of items to stay alive.