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... My eyes,
To mirror your sighs,
I will give you my smile,
To dance with your smile,
I will give you my hands,
For you to paint the beauty
Of the fertile lands
In the hills of Tuscany.
I will give you my open arms
To surround your shoulders,
When you feel cold during the winters.
I will give you my soft kisses
To dry up your tears
On your pale cheeks
So I can chase your fears.
I will give you my memory,
For you to remember
Our forgotten kisses, if any.
I will tell you some of my secrets,
Even the ones from the Pool,
In case you show interest,
And there you would think I'm a fool.
And of course I will give you
My Ocean Blue,
For you to dive into.
But I will never give you
Anything that can hurt you.
You need to know
That I can only give all this
When you come back from the abyss
To which you've decided to depart,
Leaving me alone to dream of you,
With art.
I lie in bed
Pounding head
****** slit wrists
Food barely bit
Beer bottles on floor
Feeling lost and torn
Asking myself...
Is it time to end all the pain?
what if tonights the night
that it will all be better
that i am finally
lifted through my roof
and maybe even gone forever
im tired of living life this way
of living life in stress
and sadness
i need it to go away.
i want the pain to stop
but the pain is inevitable
and it consumes
every cell in my body
until i am dead
with blood on my thighs and pills
in my bloodstream

will tonight be that night?

feeling more suicidal than usual. maybe tonight really will be the night i am finally gone.
  Jan 2015 Katherine schemelski
ema m
during the spring
he stared at his lap
and didn't listen in class
when his friends talked to him he snapped
his eyes revealed nothing
of the emotions he capped

during the summer
he didn't leave home
and wore long jumpers

during the autumn  
the news came out
about how he hit rock bottom
and took his life away
with the swipe of a knife
I'm not depressed I swear. It's just that death is such a painful experience and when writing about it- it just flows.
I wish I could stop all the time around me.
But keep moving, myself.
So I could have time.
And see it all.
And get better.
And know what to do.

It's not an option.
So I have to do these things
while everyone keeps moving.
Which makes it all more complicated.
And confusing.
And hard.

Please know I hear your offers for help.
And appreciate them.
But I cannot accept.
Helping me is just not something that will actually help me.
I have to sort this,
with out anyone else.

It's so loud.
And Oh!
It's too much.
The white interference.
A symphonic cacophony.
And I'm just more (and more)
lost than before.
Caught in a tide.
Frantic to hide.
And I want to stop.


I knew a girl who liked to draw,
she drew pictures that nobody saw.
She was most artistic late at night,
in the bedroom, out of sight.
She kept it a secret, without giving any clues,
not a soul knew, and her gallery grew and grew.
It was a different kind of art, no paper or pen,
but needed some stitches or bandage now and again.
I took her to the dark and murky river,
which reminded me of my life.
It was then when she rolled up his sleeves,
and showed me her scars with embarrassed eyes.
I laughed at Irony,  and rolled mine up too,
"I draw as well", i whispered and stood.
Taking her hand, we jumped into the river,
and  rain of white feathers fell.
That's when the demons quited,
and the river turned clear  as the sun rose up ahead.
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