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Pseudonym May 2017
I'm sick of pretending like everything's okay,
with the war going on inside my head.
I'm tired of  trying,
to be normal.
While things are falling apart.
I'm tired of hoping,
you see behind my smiles and laughter.
And just once see my broken spirit and lost soul.
I'm tired of coping,
with something I can't.
When every thought and every breath is a war,
a war I'm not winning anymore.
I'm tired of existing,
can't I just disappear.
Take a break from the loneliness and pain.
I'm tired of breathing,
when actually I'm drowning.
While everyone else around me isn't.
I'm tired of living,
when I'm already dead on the inside.
Maybe life isn't for everyone.
It's not like I chose to be like this, I don't care if you see the cuts and scars on my wrists anymore...stop asking if I'm OK, do you like it when I lie to you?
shermz Aug 2016
i've been through
the toughest
the darkest
times of my lives

i saw myself
putting blades on my wrist
medicating myself with pills
inhaling and exhaling those cigarettes
to **** my soul
slowly, bit by bit

but i didn't stop standing up for myself
ever since day one
i tried again and again
no matter how much i fall

never thought that
i'm still here
living healthily
happily.
.
.
.
*my story, my battle scars
-Shermine
Quills Apr 2016
And the scars on her wrist only faded
Never leaving her skin
Always shining through the tan
A tint of remembrance
A tint of strength
To wear forever
Her own personal Battle scars
Between existence and Extinction
6 | 31 Poems for August

Dark and cold inside.
I need a warm place to reside.
These battle scars will gradually inflict pain when they heal too.
I’ve embraced how deep my wounds are.
My confidence proves that I’ve embraced each scar.
I yearn for the type of love that leaves no room for doubt.
I yearn for a reality worth dreaming about.
Maybe one day happiness will be more than just words on a page.
I have lost love.
But I haven’t lost all the beautiful words I have to write about love.
My heart produces thoughts that my mind could never understand.
Maybe love is the beautiful art of enigma.
Patiently waiting for pain to dissipate.
Patiently waiting for love to dominate.
Pain patiently tears me up inside.
It haunts me wherever I choose to hide.
I yearn for the type of love that leaves no room for doubt.
Maybe one day happiness will be more than just words on a page.
Hopefully I will be okay when blue skies fade to grey.
Hopefully I will be okay when people no longer listen to what I have to say.
I want to escape from the cold.
I want to nestle myself deep inside your soul.
Be the half that makes me whole.

— The End —