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jǫrð May 24
I think you want
To be hurt by me
As most often do
The History: Masochists disguised as normal people with personality disorders
Lux May 17
Locked up in your bathroom bleeding,
no one ever hears me pleading.
Always hiding your arms and thighs,
tears filling up your eyes.

You are hurting but no one sees,
feeling pain to give you ease.
Somehow wishing people see it,
understand the bottom we hit.

Forever making sure it´s hidden,
telling family is forbidden.
All I want is peace,
stop calling the police.

One day I will cut too deep,
for my body to keep.
Blood covering the bathroom floor,
finally done with this war.
Nigdaw May 12
they take my blood for their machines
to analyse
the very heart of me
laid bare to scrutiny

a diagnosis
of an ill I never realised
I needed a prescription for
just to survive
so nice of them
to save my life
but I feel fine
Mark Wanless Apr 20
the lies we tell ourselves are
   part of our consciousness
globules of satan's blood drip
   into our souls
Rene Arreola Apr 14
I love the color Red.
Mostly, when it spreads across my mouth
When I bite myself hard enough.
I wince to draw blood for comfort,
Keeping my mind from racing too much.

I can’t get enough of it I confess.
The splash of crimson red
Compliments the tone of my skin.
Makes my face seem less
Pale I suppose.

As painful as it is,
It slows the raging beats of my heart.
Makes the pressure dissipate for a second.

Serenity is in the metallic taste
That I crave like morphine
To a drug addict
Eyithen Apr 3
I let it all run
Thickly and quickly
I want them to see the messy horror of it all.
But it’s not all blood,
Rather it is the medium for my art:
Pictures of roses, cardinals, apples
The rouge on a woman’s lips
An  umbrella on a rainy day
A wool sweater
A pocket square against a black suit
The traffic light on the corner of the street...
Or perhaps I'll dip my quill in it and write
Because that's what writers do.

They turn all that red into something beautiful...
I read a quote once that said, "Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red." (Kait Rokowski)
Eyithen Apr 3
“Post a time when you were at your lowest but no one noticed”
But the thing is when I was at my lowest, I never hid it, at least not in the long run
I let the blood from my struggles pour from my eyes,
It runs down my arms in vein-like trails and seeps into the creases of my palms
It runs down my fingers, filling the whorls and arches of my prints
Every touch contaminates and floods
I spread it on the surfaces, smearing and painting with red: startling like a cardinal in snow and thicker than wine
At times I regret being so open, thinking I should just keep things to myself
But that would be to go against my nature
To go against my deep desire for those I love to know every single intimate part of me;
To see me at my weakest.
Maybe it’s because there aren’t any secrets then
It’s just me showing the world that when im strong, im strong,
And when I’m weak, I’m weak.
I suppose I don’t feel the need to hide how I'm feeling or what I am going through.
To hide it would be far too much work
And I don’t have the energy to hide.
We look at the sky
peering up beyond
beyond the last birds seeking home
and the last rays of sun sinking behind the clouds
but generally we see nothing
it takes complete darkness
to really see what lies
in the ******* beyond
but even then we forget
the millions of miles separating
us and the stars
twinkling almost sadly in the distance

We are made of stardust
yes, that is true
basic elements connect us all
in hues of an artist's color wheel
but why do we acknowledge
something so far
when we are really more like what is right beneath our feet

overlooked but completely necessary
allowing us to exist in our natural form
something we touch
and through that touch
we feel the energy of the world


flowing like the blood through our veins
flowing like the river down a mountainside
flowing like the song out a bird
like the ocean 'round a great whale
like the air into our lungs
like the tears from our eyes

just like the feelings from our hearts
Matthew Jan 26
trigger warning [self harm, suicide] *

A razor so deep in the flesh
dancing far past epidermis
to the dermis
and then finally the hypodermis

He was the happiest he had ever been before

He didn't have to worry about expectations
how people saw him
because his blood would dry across the carpeted floor
he hugged his friends for the first time
He smiled and laughed louder than before
because he had nothing to hide anymore
Their faces
nothing but dots and shapes

He danced that day and no one
said anything
how curious

he'd never had known if not for this blessed

He laughed at himself more than anyone else that day

The day came to end and he was so happy he didn't need to wake up tomorrow.

His blood dried.
Anastasia Nov 2022
And there she was
A rough scab on a smooth perfect knee
With a chalky cigarette between bony fingers
Chipped red painted nails
Matching crimson accenting glossy white walls
She knew she was dreaming
Because of the ****** sun in the middle of the room
Chapped lips crack with scarlet, staining teeth
Surgical gloves reaching out from her beating heart
Held in by pale marked skin
Needles pricking gums, calling upon beads of ruby
Incisors and canines fall out one by one
Heavy tongue tastes gory wine
Indifference and apathy sistering one another
Stitches hold right-handed fingers in permanent crosses
Though an opal ring falls through
The shattering crystal lights the room ablaze
Intangible flames lick the ceiling as it rises and the floor sinks
An ever-expanding room flashing over and over in endless continuity
Like a repeating reel of film catching on fire
And then she was gone
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