Maybe I should join him.
And take my own life.
Maybe I’d be content,
Knowing my heart no longer
Beats tirelessly,
To keep my worn out body alive.
Maybe then I’d be content and free.
From the thoughts of you
Racing through my mind.
Maybe,
Just maybe...

I just lay down.
And it happened again,
For the first time in months.

Attempting to release the pain
Drop by drop.
Blood, tears and screams.

Yet I still don’t feel alive.

I have spent my life,
Living in the past,
Avoiding the present
And absolutely petrified of the future.

She leaves the house alone every night. To cry on her own in the dark. In peace. She has no friends to text because at the end of the day she can’t tell them everything. She’s out of the house getting exercise but she exercises until she can’t breath, until she can feel bone. She has bobbins all up her arms hiding cuts while she scratches her raw legs under the dinner table. The family see she is eating. Her friends at the cinema see it too. But what they don’t see, is the puke stained bathroom floor and the mouth ulcers from her own ***** forced up by only her. She starts cutting her tongue so it hurts even more too. She can’t focus on a movie because every **** second she’s wondering where she’ll cut next or how many pills she should take tonight. Or where she could find rope. The baby she lost last year holds memories. A time she could have been happy. The empty space where the baby should be Yet the void inside her is still so shallow. Her boundaries were broken growing up when her cousins fingers slipped inside. She was hurt again when she met the devil himself and fell in love only to find out he wanted her dead and once again bet her black and blue and left her open for the world to see. Only to find out he himself went to hell before she could.

And if only people knew this they might leave her alone.

It can come in bottles,
Plastic cases,
Prescriptions
And foil wrappers.

But it can also come as ***,
Blades,
Starvation,
Blood
And drug dealers.

Take your pick.

And I’m back to the bad place.
My hollow corpse,
Floating aimlessly.
Through what some people call,
Life.

I am dangerously insecure...

The memories hurt a million times more,
Than the trauma itself.

She makes me feel unwanted.
A burden,
Undeserving of love and life.
She calls me ‘fat’, ‘useless’, ‘worthless’.
And those words are engraved in my mind,
Forever on repeat.

My mother makes me want to die.

You stood on the track.
Consciously waiting,
For 8.30pm.
You knew exactly what was going to happen,
Yet you still stood.
Sweat dropped off your forehead,
Onto your tanned nose.
But you let go.
You had enough.
And 8.31pm came,
Now you are gone.

That I wish
I dug deeper.
To expose the veins and arteries,
That to this day keep me alive.

That I wish
My hands could hold more pills.

That I wish
I wasn’t born.

I don’t want to be here.
I hate it.

Why can’t i be normal

My legs,
Are my canvas.
My body,
An object.
Like a hotel.
People stay,
Then leave.
To return home.
I will never be home.

I want to run.
I need to get away.
It won’t leave me alone,
It’s always there.
Shouting at me,
Chasing me.

And when it catches me,
It tears away at the wall I built.
The wall that took so much courage,
Love,
Nurturing,
And positivity.

Gone in seconds.

Her body a canvas,
Of her own artwork.
Scars and scribbles,
Cover every inch,
Of this masterpiece.

But he took the tools,
And ripped her in half.
And streaked her with thick,
Heavy, paint.

Leaving her ruined.

How can you sleep in someone’s else’s bed?
Knowing there were endless nights of crying.
Days of sleep and loneliness,
Harming and hurt.

And nights of endless passion,
Loving and happiness.

The wine stains, the blood stains,
Sealed onto the mattress perfectly shaped,
To fit their body.

And there you are,
Abusing the safe haven they have created.

I try to slice the skin,
To cut away my sins.
Praying that with my blood,
My memories would drip out too.
That I would be new, clean.
His touch no longer clinging to my body.
That day no longer a piece of me.

I used to be alive.
But now I am nothing more than a ghost.

And today,
I broke.
My body shook,
My breath deepened.
I lost my voice,
My thoughts.
And I was back,
Back in my past.
Once again.
The hands,
The voice,
I can feel it.
I am there.
I am back,
Back to the beginning,
The beginning of my life long battle.

I don’t know you anymore.
Your mind is gone,
Your body a hollow shell.
I dream about you,
But I’m reality,
Who are you?
Who are you now if not yourself.
I miss you.

I confess.
I am in dyer need to hurt,
I miss the pain.

I admit,
i still cry every night.

I must say,
The dreams have never stopped.

But when, tell me when.
Will it stop?
When will these thought disappear,
Can I go too?

It’s not just the blades.
Its hands,
It’s nails,
Binging,
Vomiting,
Starving,
Alcohol,
Fighting,
Punching,
­Biting,
Isolation,
Reliving,
Remembering.
Self harm is not just blades.

My mother treats me as if I am 2 different people.
My mental health,
And the child.
I do not exist in her mind.
I am broken,
Useless.
I am not me.
I’m not allowed to be me.
“You will be the happy girl you used to be.”
This is me Mom. This is it. My mental health is part of me. There is no going back.

And it is today I realized,
I’m not going to recover.

Let me enjoy the silence.
The silence of screaming,
Hitting,
Crying,
Cutting,
The silence of starvation.
If I stay silent,
No one will come for me.
No one will know my secrets.

I feel like,
I am lying on a table.
Slit down my middle,
My family,
Friends,
Doctors,
And therapists.
Peering inside me.
Looking for the cause.
But the cause was me.
I am the problem.
They were looking right at it the whole time.

I have cried for help silently.
Wishing I could speak.
But my mouth remained barren.
My eyes spoke the words my lips couldn’t form,
And the proof of this struggle is written in my body.
My disgusting,
Useless,
Body.
Still standing alone,
In a world full of oblivious people.

How many more nights,
Can I do without sleep.
How many more meals,
Do I have to skip.
How many more scars,
Do I have to create,
To fill the emptiness?
The answer is infinite.

The say ‘roll with the punches’.
But I am beaten black and blue.

You made me feel needed,
When nothing else did.
I was simply falling through life,
But you gave me a reason to walk.
Even if I was walking on glass.

They are our greatest weapons.
Our enemies.
They control the harm we do to ourselves.
They hold the nicotine,
They caress the blade.
They wipe our tears,
And they can cause our death.
Our hands are what destroy us.

And in these moments,
I wish the air I breathe would suffocate me.

I’m hurting.
I’m hurting so **** much.
I wake up and think, “why didn’t I die in my sleep”.
God, just let me die.
Please just let me die.

Everything I do,
Is harm,
***, Drugs,
Everything else,
Just to numb the pain.
That’s screaming instead.

I know this isint a poem but I have no one or no where to put my feelings.

I leave the room,
Yet my body stays put.
My feet grounded,
While my mind flies away.

And it was then I realized.
That I’m not living.
I’m just walking around in a dead outer shell,
And a broken inner layer.

Why do they look at my demons,
Before they look at me.

And when the metal digs in,
I feel alive.
The the pain meets skin,
I fantasize about the oncoming pour.
The stream,
Drip... drip... drip.
If I had the courage,
The bath would be full of crimson.
But I am weak.

I felt okay,
I felt.... happy...
I felt alive.

This Moment
I feel sick,
Depressed,
Dead.
I feel sad.

It's back again.

You were my first love,
But also my first heartbreak.
You were my first kiss,
But also my last.
For you, I am willing to wait.
For your touch, your smell, your voice.

I am waiting for something that will never happen.

Since you are gone.
Forever.

The slightest wind could blow all my petals away,
Leaving
Me
With

Nothing..