Your past
has constantly got you
trigger
finger itchin'
pulling
at the stitches

Tempting you to spill
your insides out
To re-write love on your arms
Like you meant the cuts
To cut the conversation short

Capitalizing
a blood loss
in a blog
of glamorized
self-inflicted
battle scars

Some masochistic pride
pulled you into the abyss
Where do you draw the line?
Between exploitation
and raising awareness?

You could've died last night.
And I was scared to death..
I carved it on my arm
While, you took a much needed rest
I told you not to do that.
But you did it anyway..
And it hurt when I heard what you did
That you were just so ******* stupid
You almost got yourself killed..
And I was scared to death for you..
But you acted like it's nothing
And it hurt
Somewhere deep inside
That even if it meant saving your life, you wouldn't even consider taking my advice..
All I have ever asked from you is for you to, play nice..
And it hurts, the scars still sting..
Because I'm supposed to be protecting you
And I couldn't save you from what you did.
And I don't know what to expect next
And I'm scared to death.

Her happy wasn't happy. She didn't have happy.
She had sadness.
Or she had nothingness.
and the nothingness was so much worse than the sadness.
Feeling nothing at all was worse than the most excruciating pain she had ever been through. It tortured her more than all those nights of crying herself to sleep. It ate at her more than all her tormentors' words. And it left more scars than all her cuts.
Her happy wasn't happy.
It was sadness,
because the alternative was  *nothingness.

Imprinting herself around me
   a tenderly etched embrace
Integrity of heart and soul
   intact, time shan't erase

A scarab if a beetle
   a nova if a star
An amulet of conviction
   pulsing light from afar

My hand is open to her
   my life freely given
To be loved simply by loving
   ancient wisdom recently rewritten