I'm gone..

I was his personal joke
Everything about me made him laugh.
He didn't have a heart
He left without a scratch.

Unlike myself
A girl with a million scars
Living in a broken home
Cuts run up and down her arms.

(k.l)

Disappointing you
as only you can see me through
is the only thing I'm mildly good at
I hope if you think of me, you forget that
so I take this razor to my skin
I let myself feel the sting
regretfully, I let this blade
dance it's way across my wrist
my worries start to fade
finally, I have my fix.
in love, in lust, in hate
it carves a phrase
**** up
is what it reads
dear god I miss the old me
the one who would never harm herself
the one who was not a living hell
the one who would never punish a child
for the way her body was defiled
something that was out of her control
but she refuses to let go
so now she falls to her knees
as her every emotion bleeds
from every gaping hole in her body
her tears sting her arm so harshly
for as she loses her will to fight
an angel goes back to heaven tonight.

I sit here in the dark
Thinking, wondering
Where I should put the mark

With a knife in hand
I’m thinking back on life
My fathers chant
Running through my head
I only ran…away

I make the cut upon my thigh
The pain and blood act as my high

A few years later
When my shame is healed
A vile and cruel comment
Breaks through my built
Up shield.

Clutching to the knife
Clinging for dear life
Holding the handle steadily
At the end, a blade, quite deadly
Sinking the metal into your skin
To relieve the pressures within
Cuts deeper, longer
Slices steeper, stronger
Anger drips unto the ground
Anguish leaves your vocals bound
Tired of this numbing feel
Though the pain of it all is quite real
As the final droplets fall
You find that you have hit a wall
With the final breath you’ll take
Plunge the blade, your body breaks

I'll act as though this pen is a sword
and carve the words on the blank page before me
until my fingertips bleed the truth
begging to be set free from my wounds deep within.

I know lots of girls who cut
and ask them how they do it,
for it's such a brave feat to undertake
but they say there's nothing to it.

They're not afraid of blood loss,
or ripping apart their skin,
to have this be your only escape
what predicament could they be in?

So simply think of a time when you were bad
and about the pain you deserve,
and with each precise, thin, clean cut
your guilt goes away, unheard.

And then when ****** gaps close up
and the healing's coming far,
then you'll have some company to keep
for it's now and your scars.

just a cut
just a scratch
"what's that mark"?
"it was the cat"
just an excuse
just a lie
"whats with all the bracelets?"
"just fashion why?"
just a tear
just a scream
"why are you crying?"
"just a bad dream"
But it's not just a cut or a tear, or a lie
it always "just one more until you die"
(n.t.)

Lies in a bath tub,
filled to the brink.
He has tried to go under,
He has tried to sink.

He maneuvers his fingers slowly,
To the edge of the blade.
His goal is to only,
Make the memories fade.

But not much will change,
The more he will suffer.
Lets try again?
One cut after another.

Warm blooded,
The water turns red.
He is still alive,
He is not dead.

His hope is religion,
His strength he must trust.
Take all the bad memories,
Turn then to dust...

I want to destroy.
I want to burn,
to break,
to bleed;
I want to feel the sting
of shattered glass
tearing through the tough skin
of my heels.
To see red.
To ache.
I want to breathe smoke.