I cannot compose brilliant poems, sonnets, or verses,

and I cannot speak to you in Latin or Greek;

I cannot move you with any language made up by man.

Love is the only only language I could touch you with

If you only knew how much I could love you.

If you knew I love you;

If I were brave enough to tell you at all.

tw self harm



My wrists burn
Like steam that must be released

I can do it
I can let it out
I can stop it
I can stop it all!!!




But no.

I’m not supposed to do that

I’ll have to tell my counselor

I’ll have to hide more scars


So... I guess I just have to sit here
Wait until I can feel the pills working
And let the steam build under my skin
Burning, yearning to be set free
Oh what a lovely sight...
To watch
The garnet droplets
As they pool on my pale skin
And with every stroke of the blade
I want to drive it deeper

You think I romanticise suicide?
That I can find glory in death?

You're wrong.

I don't hope for romance, there is no romance in laying six feet deep.

Being defeated by your own mind holds no glory, there is no pride in suicide.

You say...
Get over it.
You can fight this.
It's only in your mind.

And you're right.

It's only im my mind so stop telling me how I feel.

So shut up.

I know it's weak.
Selfish... but it is my choice.
I know you think it's a choice to be happy.
If it was did you really think I would choose this?

sadness
pain
depression

Suicide

Trying to write a goodbye.
Wondering about the music for my funeral.

Suicide

I'm always scared but fighting.
I am weak but never giving up.
Never giving in.

I don't think this is fun.
This is suicide your talking about.
No romance.

Empty of joy and glory.
Suicide.
A way out.

She committed suicide in her poetry...

She
Wrote
About
Slit
Wrist,
And
Broken
Lips
She committed suicide in her poetry...

She
Fell
In
Love
With
A
Simile,
Metaphorically
She committed suicide in her poetry...

I
Mean
She
Actually
Wrote,
That
She
Was
Going
To
Hang
Herself
From
A
Rope
She committed suicide in her poetry...

She
Wanted
To
Be
Freed,
So
She
Chose
To
Let
Her
Pen
Bleed
She committed suicide in her poetry...

She
Had
Only
One
Life
To
Turn
In,
But
She
Gave
It
Up
Again
And
Again
She committed suicide in her poetry...

When
She
Felt
Least
In
The
World,
And
Felt
It
Should
No
Longer
Twirl
She committed suicide in her poetry...

When
She
Got
Tired
Of
Stressing,
After
Tears
Would
No
Longer
Fall,
After
So
Many
Failed
Lessons,
When
She
Felt
Neglected
Of
Blessings
She committed suicide in her poetry...

Let me
read your unsent
love notes.