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Gray Dawson Nov 2020
Pigment caked under my nails.
Tasting the metallic remnants of a lost childhood.
The reality is hidden in visions and supposed dreams.
Fed to me, was the comforting hugs of mother and soothing lies.
Grew up in the age of paid horror.

A new appendage is cheaper than keeping the original.
Marked by the price of my body.
Each fall, subtracting, each workout, adding.
Beauty is a curse nowadays.
Each beautiful child is raised and sold for millions.
Each ugly child prays to be one of the lucky to receive the new parts.

Greedy families hope for attractive offspring,
to disassemble for a new future.
A pair of brilliant green eyes can change your luck.
Having blue eyes guarantees you to be blind.
Leaving you with shades to cover the hollow left behind.

Adults will tell you sports lead to a promising future.
But they don’t tell you that it’ll lead you to losing your body.
Self-harm is a death sentence. A cut drops your value.
It forces you into the career of taking.       Taking the beauty from the beautiful.
Cutting a limb or two won’t hurt them. Taking an eye is just life.
Tell yourself they should know better. They should’ve expected it.
Expect the unexpected when you are beautiful. Expect a life of pain.
Expect misery and lose those emotions when you are ugly. You won’t need that conscience.

Forget about the forgotten already. Use that arm to grab a new leg.
Use your head to get a better one.
Use your emptiness to end others. They won’t need that life.
And don’t forget, to use your misery.
The more miserable you are, the better off the world is when you end it.
What do you think of this poem?
Gray Dawson Mar 2020
It starts with curiosity
It starts with impulse

One cut here
One cut there

It wont get out of hand
I swear

Impulse continues
This awful addiction

You know it's wrong
So you cover it up

Long sleeves

Kiss swimming goodbye
You can't swim in long sleeves

The habit never ends
You know it's true

The pull is always there
Waiting for you
Gray Dawson Mar 2020
Childish wrists
Soft and white
Aside from a few lines

Scarred and rough
Raised along different points of the wrist
Hundreds of lines on this one
Old lines

Bruises from a tight grip
Soft little lines
Not noticeable to anyone
but the wrist

Teary wrists
Cried into often
Soft and pale

On everyone
Yet no one notices
The little signs
Gray Dawson Mar 2020
The stars shine bright

as the moon emits light

It's all prettier than I write

I write about depression

My obsessions

and my daily confessions

It's easier to write

than to fight

most of the time

I write by candlelight

or so I wish

I instead write by a LED light

The one I bought on wish

but that's not the important bit

The sun & the moon

will always upstage

this fool

after all,

they're too

**** beautiful
Gray Dawson Mar 2020
The rage bubbles

Like lave trapped in a cage

The pain troubles

my poor little page.

I write about madness 

my poor little brain 

it feels me going mad

As I write my last refrain

The happiness seeping in 

as the voices try to win 

They aren't doing a very good job 

cause they soon turn into a blob

The happiness lets me know I won 

the war of surviving a day more

I let the sadness go

As I reach for the light

to let the good dreams come

after another day won
Gray Dawson Mar 2020
The warm rays of the sun on my back

The soft wet grass underneath my feet

Soft clouds glide across the sky above

The birds chirping morning melodies

Everything perfect

Close your eyes and open them

Welcome back to the real world

The cold rain pouring on my back

The muddy debris filled grass no one steps in

The overly polluted sky

The cawing crows

Reality really bites
Gray Dawson Mar 2020
I lifted my head

From my hospital bed

To find an IV

And some meds

"Am I dead"

I say aloud


Not yet"

A scary grin on his face

And eyes that lust for my death

He takes a step in my direction

With a knife in his left

"So long my good friend"

He says

With a creepy grin

Just moments

Before my very ****** death
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