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Which is louder heart or head?
Why can I not ever decide?
Silence is my only answer
Solution I have yet to find

You create escape for yourself
Why did you not just say so?
Silence is the deepest cut
Worse than you letting me go
Written 2-13-21
Odd Odyssey Poet Jul 2022
—an echo sword cuts through the sounds,
time is made of glass. Fragile as the brokenness
in pass.

—a dagger tilt into the chest. The very part,
where all sores dawn. Rising until you see
the pain appearing as heavy breathe.

—sheath; putting away sharp ends of past hurt.
Piercing deeply as longing to be free. The battle
is plenty, as the many who feel so alone.
You aren't the first!

In these blade works, working hard to survive,
on the killing of time. To bat an eye; swinging on
the looks of acting out of pride.

—it cuts anyone deeply, fighting to survive,
fighting in the many struggles of this LIFE.

Is it to hold a knife in defence, or attack,
the question of every human being.
Bailey Mar 2022
Is it physical
Is it emotional
Is it metaphorical

Does it matter
Because in the end
It still bleeds
Jaicob May 2021
Lemons into lemonade...
That's what they tell me.
It's so hard to make lemonade
When your wrists want to bleed.
The juice stings my flesh
And I just want to end.
The scars remain on my flesh
A reminder of my friend.
Pain is the only one I can tell
Nothing else is real.
Other people will spill and tell
The secret of how I feel.

Lemons into lamentation
That's all I have today-
Nothing but hopeless lamentation-
Until life stops dumping lemons on my tray.
J Apr 2021
They never tell you how much the cuts burn

The way it feels like cigarettes being put out on every slit you’ve created

Arms, wrists, shoulders, legs all raging in a blaze of boiling red

You think you would get used to the sensation, now that the cuts have become habit

But even through the numbness, it always creeps up, burning
Beanie Dec 2020
The blade interrupts
a cool patch of thigh,
the way a shooting star
interrupts a constellation.

Streaking hot and bright,
drawing a line of red
across the already
marked up expanse.

A meteor shower follows,
one shooting star after another,
until a new constellation
forms from blood.
dark. sorry.
Jet Dec 2020
i remember being a child
i remember the ignorance
i remember the jump rope that whispered, “how do people’s knees just /hurt/“

i remember dreaming of digging mosquito bites out of my flesh, but never daring to

i remember peering through the cream-colored tissue paper and seeing the blue and green toned ribbon rivers flowing underneath, wanting so badly, so innately, to dam them, to disrupt them, to desecrate and destroy

i remember watching television without glasses, i remember seeing the movies, seeing the bad but handsome men, i remember wanting their scars, wanting my own, wanting to save the broken glass pieces of the broken glass picture frame (more than i even wanted to save the once precious drawing inside), wanting to remember every memory, every mistake

every time i thought of pain, i thought
how, why,

and now, i have a warm and wretched wedding ring made of my own marred and mangled mistake

put there by a hot, hollow heat

and that hell-fire put there by either me as a careless adult

or by the wishes i had as a child

to be


to have abundant axiomatic afflictions
to be scuffed-up and broken-in
to be a well-loved leather wallet
to be an other
to be seen as damaged and dangerous

to say “keep away”
to say “i have lived and you have not”

and maybe one day,
to say, “that one looks just like mine”

and eagerly pull at my clothing
and carefully cull
desperate to reveal myself
and find camaraderie in unforgettable pain
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