I always say I'm a great artist,

And my friends like to laugh

at the stick figures I make 

which makes me smile sheepishly

Because I'm the only one who knows that wasn't the kind of art I was talking about

I don't need pencils or paper for mine

Because I use 

blades on my skin instead

And creativity continues to flow

in this maker

as the ink slowly fades to red

I keep falling back into my mind.

A dark abyss of nothing...

The hateful place where I shouldn't exist.

With haunted buildings and streets

And the shards of yesterday's ruined memories.

I don't belong anywhere anymore...

Even out at night in the cold on these dark forbidden cobblestones...

With broken lamps to guide me away from here, I run.

I only wish to die peacefully and be able to sleep forever in the warmth of a bed hidden in the place i dreamed was my lost home, once so many years ago.

And so as time goes on around me, the last sight my eyes ever catch would be the scarlet trails running down my motionless skin.

As silver metal shines between the cracks of my closing eyes, the fading color drains from my body as the final breath is stolen in the chilly fall air.

My body is returned to the earth at last

The yellow raincoat swirled around in the passing wind and drops fell from the sky. Small splashes in tiny puddles made distant music that no one could hear. People walked by me, caught up in the bustle of pedestrian traffic.
No one paid any mind.
Clouds filled the grey skies, everywhere I looked, yet it was a good feeling.
I was happy, alone here.
I smiled to myself and watched as someone ran by trying to escape the rain. I walked in it.
Today is a peaceful day in the city.
I can see mist ahead, the shop windows are all streaked with it.
When it rains it's either depressing or refreshing and today was bright despite the weathers intentions.

I once dreamed of an angel

One with dark broken wings

Rotting in the pale light

it told me that its job was to **** monsters and all the bad things

But when it came closer to me I saw that it was no longer smiling

I felt the sharp pain of death take me

And I knew why it had chosen me

And I didn't blame it either

Because if that dark angel were me, I would've done the exact same thing

Brandy was always there for me when I got sad.
Always there for me when I wanted to die.
Brandy was strong and tried to fix the problems, but never really could.
I can see the bottom of the bottle already.

I stood on the roof with inglorious intentions, looking around shakily for someone to stop me.
But no one came.

I stepped up onto the ledge and waited, pleading silently, desperately, for someone to save me.
I waited a few minutes.
But again, no one came.

I jumped off the building.
Falling, I still hoped someone could swoop in or fly up to save me.
I knew there could be no such person. And to my aid no one came.

I plummeted down and hit the ground as a pain swelled in my head suddenly and everything harshly faded to black.
My body lay there waiting to be seen, discovered by anyone.
It was too late for me to be saved.
But finally someone came.

Yes, we've met before,
on a chilly night in November.

I remember the taste of you so vividly...
it almost kills me.

The pinkish liquid strayed down the side of the bottle I kept it in, trying desperately for an escape just the same as I.

I didn't drink to destroy the loneliness of this torn heart, but instead to feel better about what was happening outside my bedroom door.

Each night I wondered why I was ever born if I am not wanted, and I fear I may never know the true answer.

The house is barely ever silent anymore, on the rare occasions it is, it is only me. Atleast aside from those unnerving silences right around each tense moment hanging in the air.

The atmosphere here is full of anger and in my case, fear.
I want to leave but I know that right now I cannot do so.

I eye the hidden drink as it calls to me from its place. I can no longer resist. This drink could be my new savior, because I do not know how much more severing my skin can take.

Even now the opening of flesh must be plotted out carefully and precisely at the right time, or else it may be found and another night of fear may ensue.

Tears flood out so easily now but the alcohol seems to hinder them.

This drink, I know, will destroy me in the end. But I always knew I'd amount to nothing more.

The way it does nothing at all to "fix me" or erase all my painful memories makes me dislike it heavily...
Yet at the same time, it could be my new and improved home.