As the rusty metal slides across my vein
I can’t help but cry out in pain
Not the pain of the sharp *******
The pain of my mental deviation
The red beads don’t pile up like they once did
I don’t hurt myself the same way I did as kid
Now I have more finesse and poise
I make art out of my injuries and treat my blades like toys
They itch after they bleed but it serves as a reminder
Yet to my destructive nature I’m just a little bit blinder
With each minor slice and crimson lined splice
I attempt to soothe my inflamed skin with cold ice
Always scarring even the smallest ones count
No matter if it’s a scratch or a **** in any amount
I choose to bleed and hurt myself
I hide them with hairbands in optimal stealth
I deserve the pain I inflict on my arm
There isn’t a day where I don’t think of self harm
Age has no impact when you’re willing to die
You don’t outgrow these tendencies and if you think you can that’s a lie
It haunts you when you’re awake and even more when you sleep
You count the cuts on your wrists instead of counting white fluffy sheep
Stripped of my childhood I was taken too early
Twelve years old when I started down this path surely
Not knowing how my life would have changed
Not understanding how my thoughts would become so deranged
I look at my scars and I smile inside
I remember every event because with each one part of me died
Six years later I’m still learning to cope
I can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel but I do my best to hope
Because although it’s not visible that doesn’t mean it isn’t there
It’s like the sun caressing your face or the wind brushing your hair
Maybe one day I’ll make it out of this abyss
But for now I’m stuck with death’s kiss on my wrists

Here are two pupils
whose moons of black
transform to cripples
all who look:

each lovely lady
who peers inside
take on the body
of a toad.

Within these mirrors
the world inverts:
the fond admirer's
burning darts

turn back to injure
the thrusting hand
and inflame to danger
the scarlet wound.

I sought my image
in the scorching glass,
for what fire could damage
a witch's face?

So I stared in that furnace
where beauties char
but found radiant Venus
reflected there.

today is the day that we celebrate freedom
yet i feel like a prisoner within my own home
another surprise to hide in the museum

in my mind, in my might, in all of my kingdom
which i hope that one day will let go of it's own
today is the day that we celebrate freedom

i struggle to capture your intimate wisdom
i couldn't hear a thing that you said on the phone
another surprise to hide in the museum

i'm sorry that you've been reduced to this boredom
a ruse that reminds you you're always alone
today is the day that we celebrate freedom

i don't think it worked out quite like i had planned, um..
couldn't pretend that i'd hide what i'd shown
another surprise to hide in the museum

so what have i learned through all this confusion
my psychic ability to hear this has grown
today is the day that we celebrate freedom
another surprise to hide in the museum

i hate
being white
so much
right now

not because
there's nothing i can do about it

but because
there's nothing you can do about it either

apparently
history repeats itself
like clockwork

You helped
helped me get out of my comfort zone
you came to me
and I let you in
You listened to my story
and I let it out
I took off my mask
You turned me inside out

You do not know how
Attached you are to something
Until it is gone.

The sea is still today
It's cerulean blue and gold
I think of the thoughts it carries
Within its hidden folds.
Its touch is soft and gentle
It soothes the ache of years
But I wonder how many waves
Are made from fallen tears.