I was so worried,
so ******* scared
because I opened myself up to you,
felt how it burned to take you in,
indulged in how good it was
to be naked, torn open and vulnerable—
at risk,
going ahead despite the little voice in my head
that told me the entire time
"this could ruin your life".
I was awestruck,
how at odds it was to find pleasure in terror.

Well I had contingency plans in place,
pills and alcohol and bruises
just in case you exploded inside me
and ripped me apart.
Even if you did, I knew you'd still be there
to fix the problems
just to cause them all over again,
bursting and mending, erupting and clearing up the mess
over and over and over;
maybe that's why I went ahead and did it.

By God, I've never felt so sick to my stomach
than I did when you looked me in the eyes
and I realised I couldn't stop,
couldn't run away like I usually would.
And yet I wasn't hurting,
wasn't splitting apart at the seams—****
wasn't that scary.
5 AM and standing over the sink,
staring into my own tired eyes
and observing the abuse left by insomnia's hands:
sunken shadows bruising sleepless eyelids.
I smiled because, darling,
never before has it felt so good to bleed.

Nights are becoming so boring
I hate to write you a sad song
I want to tell you that I hate you
And everything we did was wrong
But the truth is quite the opposite
I’m really lost and for you, I long
My heart has never stopped bleeding
It’s never gonna be that strong
Life is short and becoming shorter
When I once believed that we belong?

like paint through bristles
ink is spilling out
of my overfilled pen
bleeding onto the paper

scribbling notes
in a usual cliche
curling my words
hoping they stay

for a weaver of words
I am without any
I couldn't describe
snatches of my sanity

writing is an extension
of the mind and
I am out of mine

Today, my friends made fun of depression.
They laughed about suicide.
They pointed out the cuts on my hands and arms
And they laughed some more.

"I'm going to slit my wrist too
And even put a band-aid on it!"
And they laughed again
While looking at me.

They made faces
While drawing lines on their skin
Mimicking how I had cut mine
Laughing at how I bled

Is it that funny?
Did you even know what I felt that night?
When the world was blind
And you were thinking when's everything going to be alright

When the world was dead
Of your screams and cries
And no one can't notice you're drowning
And you're struggling to save your own life.

Do you even know how it felt like
When the blade drew blood on my own skin
What kind of satisfaction it felt
Knowing that I was hurting?

Is it that funny?
That I had put bandages on my wounds
Because I was embarassed
To show deep inside how it hurts?

Is what I did that funny?
That you laughed so hard
You almost can't catch your breath
And it even made you tear up?

I also felt that
I also can't breathe that night
And it's because I was crying
But I was gritting my teeth instead of a grin.

Is it funny,
To have these monsters inside your head
Whispering how no one loves and cares about me
And I deserve all this pain and I should die?

Is it funny,
When I finally gave in to my demons
And searched for that new blade my mother made me buy because I lost the old one?

Is it funny,
That I was so drained
From giving all the love that I have
To someone who would never see my worth?

Is it funny,
When I finally had the courage to cut my own skin
And the stinging sensation I started to feel
And I heard my demons cheer?

Is it funny,
When they whispered "cut it deeper!
You deserve to die
Because nobody loves you!"?

Will it make you even more happy,
If I'll cut it deeper next time
And you'll see me on the floor of my room
Blood pooled around me?

I'd like to hear you laugh at me again
But I know
That I won't be breathing and feeling anymore
When that next time comes.

wordsmith,
pull me under the grainy pages -
show me how the ink bleeds

Scars everywhere, I expected
I knew it before, but can't stand
No more migrants, no black lives
Why are you pouring molten water
On your own people?

Calling up in a war?
Blaming on every people
Who wished for a bright future
What have you done to the people?

Butterflies spilled forth from her mouth,
Like the promises I’d only dreamt to ever desire,
          And just as heavily, entered the chains,
          Bags to promise scars atop soil, long walks.

So come the tilling, the cull and the harvest
When merchants meet maidens, ***** hands wave
          And having seen the second fracture,
          At least I could share in the shouldering.

But the butterflies, eventually to crisp and husk
Under sun, stench and eventual ends prior Eden,
          Dull blades and edges broken
          Like the backs of those that believed before;

She’d be granted her wings, her winds and pomp,
Like the nights in Matamoros had promised –
          Leaving me the luggage and at the least,
          A scent of what love could mean.

You float around me like pollen,
but you fail to make me sneeze,
take off your veil,
and look me in the eye
before I rip your plans apart
without a single goodbye.

There are things you'll
never take from me,
such as the joy flooding my heart
when his face lights up,
the warmth I feel when I close
my eyes in the sun,
the feeling that I'm actually someone,
You'll never make me feel like no one.

How do I know I have
a beating heart
if I never bleed?
Save giving up for the weak.
I'll save deafness for your words,
no doubt I'll never listen
and they'll go unheard;
save tears for the hurt.


- Crimsyy