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Hannah Field Oct 2018
I'll draw you a picture
I'll draw it with a twist
I'll draw it with a razor
I'll draw it on my wrist
If I do it correctly
A red fountain will appear
To take away my pain
To wash away my fear
  Oct 2018 Hannah Field
Erin Johnson
The cut wasn't deep,
No blood was shed,
It was just the pain,
Of scratches on my leg,
Leaning against the wall,
Leaning till I fall,
Crying on the floor,
Not because of simple pain,
But because of the emotions,
I have to endure.

Letting it all out,
Till I feel empty inside,
This was just the beginning,
Of what I have to hide,
Hiding behind my smile,
Is ever so tough,
Now hiding behind my long sleeves,
Is going to be rough...
Hannah Field Oct 2018
Train tracks and train lines is what I see
No obvious sign to stop me
One line crossed,
Another one stepped over
One gone right,
The other gone left
Lost in direction
No comfort or protection
Two more lines crossed
Another stepped over
Red rain drops now fall,
I'm now able to see them all
One more line to cross
No more to step over
Time to watch the rain fall
Fall on to each and every track
Train tracks and train line is all I see
Hannah Field Oct 2018
We stopped checking under our bed for monsters
When we realized they were inside us
Hannah Field Oct 2018
Silly little girl
Don't fool yourself
They've seen your scars
Just don't want to help
Little do they know
How much it could change
With three little words
" Are You Okay"
  Oct 2018 Hannah Field
krm
Clothes have outgrown me many times over,
but this sadness never does.
One size.
fits all.
There should have been an obituary for cancer,  not you.
Wishing these slits within my skin could have been
replaced by a reality check from you, “You chose to exist.”

My name causes a sigh to escape from lips,
that do not feel like they belong to me,
the girl,
whose words always had to be special.

The schematics of hospitals like a birthmark in my brain,
born into sadness, a gut feeling as a child.
Never trusting time
due to what it delivers.

Death, being the only thing I desired.
But you, 
who I love,
endlessly-
robbed by it.
Whose ebb for life glowed so feverishly.
Stopped comparing depression to lace,
restricted the belief that suicide is poetic,
seeing things as they were.
More often than not, applauded for feeling emotions deeply.
Every second that dies, the shift of my heart quakes.

This world is not tender.

II. Sad.
I have known the flowers I wanted at my own premature funeral,
knowing how many bouquets honored you that day.

split open my veins like a dimension
reminiscent of days where I anticipated deathbeds.


My family wondered,
can we make it through another day?
Death scares me for what it has taken,
yet, I’m not afraid to die-
it’s all I deserve.
So I await the day pain erupts
from my throat,
acknowledging the days a soul
lived inside of my body-
footprints that walked,
belonging to me.

But I learned so well.
How to suffer with a smile,
dreading the beating of my heart
how unfair—
I don’t want to take these deep breaths
You deserved,while I masquerade as a member of the undead
Never outgrowing the desire to rot with the phantoms residing under my bed.


III. Jokes played by the universe.
punchlines delivered,
how could anyone to stand to be in the same room as myself?
How could anyone look over skyscrapers and sunsets,
and not be infatuated with concrete consuming them?
How I shared a sigh of relief during the thought-
of knowing people would thrive without me,
or the power of a belly laugh,
resembling a laugh track audience
drowning out 3 AM suicidal thoughts.
I wrote this in pink gel pen, maybe, that’s another joke.
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