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i want to peel the skin from my limbs
strip by strip
with broken glass making jagged incisions
then watch the blood drip
down my body
dark red is pretty.

i want to scratch my eyes out
i've seen too much now
they'd look better splattered on the floor
just like *****, blotched decor

i want to pluck my nails out from the beds of my fingers and toes
and with a torch burn it all, melt the cartilage off my ears and nose
its too much extra baggage
for when i jump off the ledge
i like to mutilate myself
i’m a ******* as well

i love slicing deep into my skin
or puncturing myself, with a needle or pin.
seeing my blood escape captivity
makes me feel more alive than if it was still inside me
even more so when i carve out an artery
it falls so gracefully down to my feet

i want to display my own bones in my home
and replace them in my body with metal poles
i think feeling pain is better than feeling nothing
and seeing a sharp razor to grate my skin is always enticing
i love how it stings.

blood is the liquid of life yet symbolizes death
i corrupted my soul, now an expired body is left
i want to reach inside my chest
and grab my heart
and squeeze so hard
it oozes like jello through my fingers
and stops beating forever.
I had death on my mind before
but this was different
Depression wanted more
My demons belligerent

My mind on this endeavour
Mixed logic in and its making more sense than ever
There is absolutely nothing after death
A thousand thoughts but one last breath.

On life I no longer wish to cling
But death ends everything
Thought or feeling
Or the process of healing

You don't hear or speak lies
You don't feel the pain behind cries
You don't see it in their eyes
You don't feel how time flies
You don't know if towards your wellbeing or demise

You don't have a mood
You don't feel good
You don't mind opinions skewed
You don't care how you're viewed

You don't feel bad
You don't feel sad
You don't feel the loss for what you had
You don't feel love from your mom and dad

You don't get to care for what you hold dear
You don't get to be brave or cower in fear
You don't get to wipe a happy or sad tear
You don't get to chastise or cheer
You don't get to choose, you just disappear

You don't get a choice in the matter
You don't get to worry about the after
You don't get the need for a break, a breather
You don't get regret for dying either...
I've found myself able to put pen on paper only in darkness.
 Aug 6 The Young Poet
Lux
Locked up in your bathroom bleeding,
no one ever hears me pleading.
Always hiding your arms and thighs,
tears filling up your eyes.

You are hurting but no one sees,
feeling pain to give you ease.
Somehow wishing people see it,
understand the bottom we hit.


Forever making sure it´s hidden,
telling family is forbidden.
All I want is peace,
stop calling the police.

One day I will cut too deep,
for my body to keep.
Blood covering the bathroom floor,
finally done with this war.
 Aug 6 The Young Poet
Phia
This morning
I sat in the shower
Staring at the razor
On the edge of my tub
Wondering
If the water would turn cold
Before my body did
They tell me, they promise me, I'm not alone
But I can only go by what I've always been shown
Unwanted, undesirable, freek show, just a small sample of all I've known
I wish my inner abuser would adapt another tone
I don't own my own thoughts, any positive feeling is only on loan

People act like I hone in on this curse to be worthless
Like I thirst to be anxious
Like I have to coerce this anger and bitterness
Like I enjoy being immersed in the hopeless
Like my first thought is the worst on purpose
Like I enjoy all my deep rooted issues constantly rising to the surface

Then comes the question that brings me back to reality
"What are you doing to get control of this? Not enough certainly"
Honestly that's another cog in the circle mosh pit of misery, part of the continuity
I'd give anything for it to be as easy as everyone claims it should be

Because what most people see from me is rehearsed
My final diagnosis can not be reversed
The totality of my issues couldn't possibly be unearthed
But that doesn't change the horrible landscape I've traversed
I wouldn't be able to tell you what I'm worth, all I know is...
...I am this, for what it's worth

©2024
All my effort is going into vain,
this endless fail is creating so much pain.
Something inside me want to break this loop,
But I am not yet sure where to put that hook.
Maybe this effort is not in the right direction,
But this is the only way to achieve perfection.
Nobody is perfect, everybody needs to work hard. So one should never afraid of failure and hard work.
Been sad for a month now
And I don't really talk much anymore
A loud kid gone quiet
Blending in the crowd
Everything is a snarky comment
Everything is a jab in my side
Everything is a loss of me

I spend my nights alone
Hang-up those calls
Ignore those messages
I remove myself from the world
Lost in my own thoughts
To only fall harder for this loneliness I started in

I think it's my fear grabbing ahold of me
The fear of losing
The fear of failing
The fear of needing
The fear of letting go
And hurting
Hurting her
Hurting me
Hurting them
And losing myself some more
Losing myself
 Sep 2023 The Young Poet
Eyithen
I’m clawing at my chest,
Because I want to make this itching ache stop
But I am unable to reach into my chest and grasp my stomach and clench my heart;
I am unable to tell it to stop its fluttering
Just as I am barely able to hold back the sob that wants to rip through my throat in an agonizing scream.
BUT I CAN'T.
Because I can’t do anything.
I have no control.

And normally I would be okay with that,
But in these moments losing control is the worst thing
Because it is the one thing I so desperately need.
Just when things are going well I collapse into myself again like an exploding star.

The cycle is repeating.
This is the hardest part. It’s the most painful.
It is crying all the time
It is anxious
It‘s having fidgety hands
It's headaches from furrowed brows
It's seeing the inadequacy of yourself and not being okay with it.
It's like having a microscope on yourself
Its being exhausted all the time because you can’t stop the overthinking, the analyzing, or the constant pity parties and comparisons

I’m sick of being so emotionally fragile.
I just want to move on to the next stage already
To the numbness that follows
So I can stop caring
Stop crying
Stop hurting so **** much

I just want it all to go away.
I want the pain and hurt to go away.
This ache isn’t numb, it's not sharp, but rather it is suffocating.
It is hands around my throat squeezing  just tight enough so that I feel like I'm dying, but aware that I can still breathe.
 Sep 2023 The Young Poet
M
I never know what say  

a memory of longing
is painful as it keeps

decaying in my chest

putting my love on paper
doesn't take it away
it amplifies the sting
trying to move on

infecting the open cavity of my being

you read my words like you understand
but I'm lost in a memory of what would have been

trying to collect shattered pieces of my own self

emptied and dancing whisked into the shadows
like the end of a dream

feverishly waking up because my feelings weren't received

give them but don't get them
like as if I sent a letter of longing

never in return
I try to write but the words are my tears
drink up
and only then you will feel the same
as I do
How I Observed the Day of Atonement

If you are unfamiliar with day and its observance,
See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my creator who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing, none harsher,

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, adirondacke thrones,
We overlooked,
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded and sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants, the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogos, in this,
Palace of Perfect Solitude.

Amiable did we chat,
I of family, this and that.

He, wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For he had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books.

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor no defender in residence,
For we exchange these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession.

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine.

He returned this courtesy.

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, he said that he had yet to find
A beverage that his kind of thirst could slake.
For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past.

Too much killing, this year,
It tires me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less, if at all.

Thanks for Kol Nidre, he plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood, undisguised as praying.

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For him it attended, for him, it waited,
Sails, both black and white.

He stood to depart, my arms-grasped, taken, he graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, my strengths, my divinity.

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet when next we meet, please.

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He, for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting  beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never deception,

Only He resting easy, when he atoned before me,
And I gave him his absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
mine
September  2013
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