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156 · Jan 2018
Friends?
Shea McCarthy Jan 2018
They feed me lies.
Tell me that they
will always
be there for me.

Console me with
their borrowed words.
Spin twisted lies
with invisible thread.

But when I need them most,
when I’m swallowed by darkness,
and attacked by my demons.
They’re gone.
146 · Jun 2018
Don't Help Me
Shea McCarthy Jun 2018
Scabs
then scars.
No explanations.
I scraped myself,
fell on a rock.
Watch their faces
change in shock.
I know that you know
so why try to hide?
But I just can’t explain
what goes on inside.
Because you didn’t see
the cuts glistening red.
Watch the blade rest harmlessly
as I bled.
So please don’t say
you understand
if you’ve never picked up
that blade with your hand.
Don’t tell me you feel me
Realize and recognize
the pain inside me when
I didn’t specify.
But even if you did make that choice
once upon a time
I think
I think
I think
I’ve crossed a line
from which I can’t come back
Maybe I’ll see my friends again
all dressed in black.
It's an old poem that I wrote when I used to feel this way. If anyone reading this does this to themselves please GET HELP. I regret not making that choice more than anything in my life.

— The End —