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You left me a bruise
the kind you don't realize you have until long after the incident.
A purple tinged skin of a mistake
from pushing too hard and too far
searching for love,
love that would never come.
I cried and begged you for you to want me,
you said you did,
but I saw those messages to her,
and the other girls.
You lied.
You never wanted me.
You only wanted ***
when I wouldn't give it to you
you left.
Left me hanging
from a noose
choking for life.
I screamed for you to come back
I would have given you my all
I was too late.
I realized it
and so did my wrists
as a blade met them
blood ran down my hands
as I left blood soaked fingerprints
on letters
you would never see.

I've shredded those letters now
its been over two years
since I promised I would **** myself if you didn't love me.
I took the crumped notebook and rusty razor blades
out to the trash and threw them away
without a second thought
like you threw away my heart.
The bruise has faded now,
the bruise you left me
the purple has faded to a yellow
you may not notice it at first glance
but when I push on it just right
the same deep-throbbing pain
as when I first received it
shoots through my body
I bite my teeth and curse your name
If it wasn't for your big brown eyes
I would have never gotten myself into that mess.

Do you have any idea the pain you caused me?
or were you too blinded by your own scars to see mine?
Sometimes, I believe, pain blinds us all to the point that we don't even realize when we're hurting others the way someone else hurt us.
You don't like me.
You like the idea of me.
You like the idea
That someone who is
Suicidally depressed
Can make you
Extraordinarily happy.

You like the idea
That my deep
Cynicism and scepticism
Can fuel your
Overjoyed optimism.

You like the idea
That I'm  the
Wonderful, beautiful
Intelligent, nerdy girl
You thought I was.

I am nothing.
I am empty.
I am not an idea.

Ideas are dangerous
Exciting, giggly.
They fill the idealist
With roaring delight.
Such a fantasy
Couldn't be real but in
The mind of a
Surrealist, Idealist
Socialist, Capitalist  
Fascist.

I am not an idea.
Ideas are fun.
I am not an idea.
Ideas get things done.
I am not an idea.
Ideas are good.
Ideas aren't real.

I am real.
I wish I was only
Your idea of me.
I wish I wasn't real.
Written 14th May.
Poetry has become my self harm,
I only write at my lows...
Instead of blood I see words,
Instead of a blade I have a keyboard...

I want to write about...
The wind dancing with the sea...
Or...
The way you smile and it lights up your innocent face...

I don't want poetry to be my self harm,
Because poetry is beautiful...
An art...
Not.
Just.
Blood.
And.
Scars.
Judge away... I'm trying to not care... No matter how much I do ...
 Jun 2014 McKenna Carrig
neko
I HEARD SOMEWHERE THAT THE LIFESPAN OF BUTTERFLIES IS ONLY A COUPLE OF MONTHS BUT IT'S BEEN ALMOST 7 AND I'M PRETTY SURE THE ONES RESIDING IN MY STOMACH ARE YET TO PASS THEIR STAGES OF YOUTH
The sensations can be unbearable,
When you are so far away..
I reach out to grasp your hand,
Nothing to save..

How I long to hold your hand,
To kiss your lips.
To be mated forever,
Under one final push..

My dear,
Its unbearable to wait,
But I will prevail..
Waiting for that day,
To meet face to face..
Something struck my heart and made me teary eyed..
The most effective way to poison
is to shoot straight through the heart
and
Cupid has been doing a fine job so far.
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