Her smile dissipated and her tears ceased flow.
She was refocused.
Her right arm bleeding all over, Chrimson moved her other hand
She fell
Her head colliding with the chilled floor
It didn't hurt.
Raised her arm to the sky, deathly solemn her face was
Her weaponry pressed the flesh
Her mangled arms somewhat symmetrical
Gazing at the glazing of her appendage, she felt not happy
Not glad
But she felt justice.
This was what she deserved. What her sins had bought her.
What she needed.

An edited passage from one of my recent narrative pieces.
I thought it good to put here among my other writings.
Things are getting better on my end.
Shawn B 3d

I don't know how I met you. Inspired.
It's like you appeared out of the thin air.
Newly created...

I held my own, just barley,
As you looked at me, across your dinner table at mid day or earlier.
Like it was early in the morning even though it wasn't.
Fresh and geeky, tidy and neat, And on a mission!
You smiled, laughed and winced in my general direction.
I answered your questions, one worded like.
You answered mine before I even asked, I was mystified.
You're like a feather, from a native chiefs head dress,
Dipped in ink,
Then blown onto a piece of paper made of pure flexible gold,
Written into existence by divine inscription.
Dawson Creek...

I made a sculpture. Five so far,
I cut my thumb, multiple times on this one, multiple times.
Sorry. To number five and to myself,
Bad skills, bad counter-pressure,
Blood, scars, band-aids.
Blood on five, scars on me,
Pouce Coupe...

Between for me equals the space between,
Between Dawson Creek and Grand Prairie,
Like Pouce Coupe, is "cut thumb", in french.
A mother tongue language of somewhere in me, undiscovered.
English is my Papa tongue, the language of, "let's get things done!"
Both pretty good. One definitely more productive! Go!
Pouce Coupe, the undiscovered middle ground.
A french name for an English town.
Pouce Coupe...

Like this sculpture,
Art from the space between, Like the memory of you,
My "lost" friends,
Memories like driving there and home again.
Through memory lane.
It's like Pouce Coupe, the memory of you.
Like the scar, the cut thumb, the memories good and all my bad.
And somewhere in between I'll meet you all again,
Most likely in "Pouce Coupe".
The unpredictable space between,
Pouce Coupe...

Just an odd reminisce of mingled thoughts of things that bundling through my head when I'm doing art. Sounded fun wanted to write it down. So, I wrote it down here. Enjoy
Marlene Jan 11

Knives.
Sleek, silver, shimmering.
It speaks to me,
"Come this way."

Mutilation
Is as bad as you make it.
To us it is just a way
To relieve some pain.

Blades.
They are so great,
emotional shade,
a short escape.

Stitches.
Two now,
by myself.
Still no relief.

This poem was written a long time ago. I am doing much better now. Just getting around to publishing these poems.
I have finally found happiness.
L M Biese Jan 9
Ink

I drew on myself today
and I drew my heart on my hand
so when I give you one
you get both

I drew on myself yesterday
and I drew a rose on my arm
so when I see it
I think of you

I drew on myself two days ago
and I drew 18 little lines
which drew blood
which drew attention

I love drawing
I love writing
I love you
so that's why I'm drawing love

I draw so you don't get worried
Is that bad?
RebelGirl Jan 8

if i told you i was sorry tor the marks you were about to see
would you ask what marks
or would you say i know what marks you are talking about
would you stick with me when i told you it happend for over a year
or would you turn your back on me and tell me i was hopeless
and garbage
but worst of all
if i showed you the marks
would you tell anyone else
or would you keep it to yourself
if i told you that i am sorry for cutting myself
would you lift up your sleeve and say
its ok i cut too
we will get through this together

nainz Jan 7

"Go have a breakdown since that's all you're good at"

He doesn't realise the weight his words have on me

Words that cascade with force into my entire world

Tunnel vision showing only him

As a target

Revenge is bittersweet
Much like the black coffee, dark chocolate, and gin that I love

In hindsight revenge never does cut it

Because I never use a knife

Instead my revenge is in the form of removal

It makes no difference

.

Words

That's all they are

Yet they're as sharp as a double edged sword

One side is jagged, the other smooth

Both cut

Deep

Wounds left etched through my body

Scars running like war paths over my entirety

Does he gain pleasure by putting me down?

Does making me feel worthless make him feel strong?

Or am I simply a woman who hasn't evolved past the hindrance of emotion

Melodie Fowles Sep 2017

The anguish that festers in our minds at night
Takes a hold when our torment takes flight

Why can’t we just let it go
Slice the skin, let the pain flow

All thoughts and reason could be forgotten
As the sickness inside starts to blossom

Mingled and entwined with your soul
It’s how the sick darkness takes control

On a dark tide of false thoughts and dreams
Reality fights while your inner demon screams

Tearing apart the delightful little lie
Piece by piece as you stumble and cry

All your left with is stark reality
A sense of loss in truths brutality

Open your eyes and remove the blinkers
See people for what they truly are
Or the pain and hurt will forever linger.

Do you want die
Cease to exist
From this life be taken
As you slice your wrist

You haven't thought this through
If you had you would know
That to yourself
You aren't being true
This life you hate
You can once again renew

Just open your eyes
And look past the darker skies
To the brighter blue
Where the things you want
Are sure to come true
And the light you seek
Can finally shine through
Then these dark thoughts
Will be gone
As if you never knew
There is hope for everyone...
Even you.

Give them a choo-choo, a weapon
You can breathe disease with a word
A contagion
         A mindset          
                   A plague                  
Go to bed, you'll catch the writhing worms
You'll see them slithering
Beneath your skin, if you stare
If you watch long enough
You've got parasites inside you, obviously
Look at you playing surgeon
Your arms are full of mistakes.

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