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A cry for help is a cause for alarm.
Self harm carves tales in pale arms.
Scars form like lines scored in old boards
and tree bark, graffiti of hearts broke in the park.
tattoos use ink. A penknife will ooze blood into sinks.

Introspection is a writhing vivisection.
cutting deep, fists clench and twist
bending ribs with wrenching wrists.
Rending bars apart the cradle that cribs the heart

that drums a beat like bells that rung your death knell
from the first to last breath your lungs have expelled.
A tongue to tell and eyes to see, a mind to be,
a heart to feel.
Vivid Vivisection,
It hurts to heal.
You can relax, I don't cut myself it's just a poem.
Ronin Oct 11
punish
relieve
hurt
silence

myself
my pain
my skin
my head
Creator Sun Oct 9
One more time, one more time.
I’ll just do this one more time.
One last time and I’ll be fine.
I’ll just do this one more time.

One more time, one more time,
The crimson red is such a beautiful sight.
One more time and I’ll be fine.
Let me just do this one more time.

One more time, one more time.
The silvery gleam greets me once again.
One last time, I’ll be fine.
I’ll just do this one more time.

One more time, one more time,
Fresh roses are piling around me.
Is that you? Cruel angel of the world?

Take me away, one last time.
Another poem about self harm, I never seem to run out of those. It's a bit more compact this time, I hope you enjoy.
Arden Sep 23
There is a boy in my closet
The boy is friendly but stays hidden
When I look in the mirror there he is
I became jealous of who he is
He says he wants to come out  
I decided to ignore it
But the curiosity grew bit by bit
Until I could barely stand it
"CUT YOUR HAIR"
But when I went downstairs my unapproving mother stood there
The boy wasn’t at ease with what our plan began to be
Because in reality, the boy was really me
But all people can see is she
That part wasn’t cut out for me
I don’t understand the big deal if I'm a he
Poetic T Sep 15
You are the one
                 footstep
that connects to mine.

For every stride we take,
                Is never singular

   But one in unison.


You and I, are a step in the right

           Direction.

Never mistaken, but when we
             Work together


we"ll always take the right step.
I couldn't run,
I couldn't hide
So I kept a silver blade
By my side
Butterfly Sep 14
If I'm only something that's in your way.
I'll leave
Anastasia Sep 13
you took my wrist
in your hand
and traced my cuts
with your thumb
you caressed them
and kissed them
and spoke
few words
but you said
never
again
Cameron Sep 11
It cuts into me as a knife.
Scarring the surface of my soul.

Blood rolls down the blade
Carrying whispers of uncertainties.

It stares at me as it breathes me in,
And I breathe my last.
Steve Page Sep 7
Before you take up your blade, Sharon
who do you see?
Will you be cutting to heal
or incising to free
some carefully hidden,
some up-til-now unbidden me?

When you take up your blade
and test the fresh edge
do you have an image of a me
fixed in your head?
Can you see in your mind
a kinda-me roughly out sketched?

When you make your first cut
do you have a clear vision
of what I'll reveal
have you made your decision
as you press down and carefully cleave
with loving conceiving precision?

When you lay your blade down
do you see I've appeared?
Do you know I'm complete
when the excess is cleared?
Or when you sleep do you wonder
whether there's a less of a me
maybe a more of a me
silently waiting here?
You need to see Sharon Walter's art to fully understand this.  She cuts away at images to reveal something new.  Quite remarkable.
www.londonartist1.com
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