Red looks good
Running down my skin that is..
I shouldn't cut
But,
I need release
Sobs wracking my body
Heavy breathing
Chest feels empty
I feel empty.. just a shell
No substance,
But all these unwanted emotions
I need release
Throat hoarse and raw
Guilty fingers shaking
Again..
Hot tears threaten to escape
I need release
Just one tiny cut
Please?
Or maybe a few
I need release
One slit, then two
That familiar sting
That familiar red
Uncontrollable sobs

Forget the risks
Cut the wrists
Take the fall
If that's what it takes,
just end it all.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.

You live out your life
While I bleed my feelings.
Oh how different we are.

People don't know
Why I do what I do
Why I cut
Some people think it's disturbing
Some think it's for attention
And some just tell me to stop
But it's not that hard
I guess I could've stopped it
Way back when
But now it's too late
I'm addicted
Why do you think anyone does drugs
It's not because they're cool
It's to numb all feeling
To help
Depression is just as addicting
So is cutting
It started how any addition would
With just one time
One time became at least every month
Every month became maybe every week
Now it to the point where I do
Anything to feel pain
It's the control
You can control the pain
If you feel pain on the inside
There's no way to control it
But on the outside you can
You can cut lightly
You can gouge your skin
Whatever you need in the moment
I don't get why we hide it
Maybe we're ashamed
But we shouldn't be
Because it's not us doing it
It's the repercussions of an illness
And it's people's faults
Because they put those thoughts there
They make us hurt
We just are trying to deal with it
So when someone trys to tell me
Just stop
I tell them
Its not me that's doing it
It's them

i wake up every morning
and i make breakfast
i sit beside you and i eat
i read and sometimes make conversation too
but you don't know me enough
to know that i'm not really there
you haven't really ever tried
you see the scars painted across my thighs
you hear me crying to myself at night
it doesn't matter that you never see me smile
because i'm still here
still alive
if i was to leave tonight
without even saying goodbye
would you care then
would you try
would you finally realise
that i needed you to love me, mum
and you let me down
night after night
you've let me down one too many times
and here i am telling you, goodbye

maybe i understand why they jumped.
maybe i don't.
a sense of freedom was all they wanted.
and yet when they feel happy, they knock into a wall, reminding them of how rotten, messed up, worthless, useless, weak they were.

maybe they jumped because it freed them from the pain and the chains that were on their hearts, squeezing tightly, breaking, tearing it, heart...bleeding.

maybe they jumped because the wind that rushed and skid across the skin, the clothes they were in, went between the chains and broke them free...

maybe they felt the rocks pressed against their shoulders flew to the skies, to be forgotten. never knew it left more on someone else's shoulders.

maybe they jumped because the fear overtook the pain.
maybe they jumped because of the regret that overtook their minds, made them forget on how they saw themselves.

maybe i understand,
maybe i dont.
i just want to say.
theres hope.