Always playing the victim
but you've been making a victim
of everyone.

Jump....
Off this cliff.

Silent voices whisper

Just reach,
Farther,
Below.

Touch the river...

Jump.

Water is blue.
And hate is as black
As love.

Angels don’t exist...
Anymore,

You clipped all their wings.

And if I jump
Now,

I won’t fly..
I’ll fall.

I can never cut.
But sometimes I swear,
It feels like wounds are being carved into my heart,
And I wonder if carving these wounds unto my skin
Can relieve it.
This kind of pain you can’t reach;
No matter how far into yourself you stretch,
If I could grab my heart and squeeze it till it is numb;
Like I would if the knife slips;
Till all the red in my finger fades away;
Till all the pain in my heart fades away.

I can never cut.
Except with the words I stick myself with everyday.
You taught me how to self-harm, I took the blade from you,
And convinced myself that it hurts less if I’m the first one to say it;
That if I kept cutting at my heart,
If I kept giving myself scars,
Then the ones you gave me didn’t matter.
And I never let them heal;
The wounds,
They never heal.

I can never cut.
Because for the life of me I cannot get accustomed to pain.
I cannot get accustomed to you hurting me over and over again.
I cannot get accustomed to bleeding inside.
My wounds are too afraid to be seen.
My wounds refuse to etch themselves unto my skin;
To be so bold.
I cannot wear myself inside out;
My pain inside out.
But I swear,
When these wounds are being carved into my heart,
I consider if carving them unto my skin,
Will ever relieve the pain.

you're scared.
because you've always lived
in a fantasy you made up
inside your head;

too scared to step out
and walk in your glass slipper;
too scared to go bare feet
on broken glass.

you were Cinderella
in your daydreams.
you thought and you hoped
that real life worked like fairy tales.

you stayed inside your carriage
and you dreamt.
but could you fly on the backs
of those wingless dreams?

no, not when midnight came
and they began to vanish;
not when your carriage disappeared;
your world.

then, struck by darkness,
you trip and fall into life's abyss,
and your glass slipper shatters;
your heart.

It stains like blood,
Your touch.
Like wine,
It stays,
Intoxicates,
Alleviates,
Exonerates.

It frees.

Envelope me.
Paint me with your colours,
Your fingers, tinted brushes.
Draw over my scars.
Embellish me.

The artist, a lover.

Demons are only real because we create them;
Because we plant them there and water them;
Because we inherit them;
We breed the insanity; feed the flames.

We embrace them,
Like they're the only friends we've got;
The only ones who stuck.
We hate them, but we love them to stay,

And keep us company,
Because if not, there'd only be emptiness;
Emptiness that begins to rot inside you,
And drives you straight to the devil himself.