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Sydney Ann Jan 2015
Covered in scratches
Covered in scrapes
Drowning in wounds
That eternally ache
Lianna Walters Jan 2015
Dear *******,
How dare you call me an attention *****?
How dare you tell me you understand?
Tell me,
Do you know what it’s like to look at your reflection,
And turn the other way, ashamed?
Do you know what it’s like,
To know you’re you,
Down to the last hair,
And hate yourself for it?
To stare at yourself, to look into your own eyes, to try to convince yourself that it’s fine, but in actuality it’s a cover that you’ve learned to wear everywhere, that you’ve learned to love, because when you’re in it nobody knows?
Do you know what it’s like to walk everywhere, terrified, because you feel people looking at you like you have a giant sign that reads “DEPRESSED ANXIETY FAT UGLY NEVER ENOUGH SO KEEP WALKING”?
Tell me, do you know what it’s like to look in the mirror, force upon your face a smile, knowing it’s a mask that’s been permanently glued to you by your own tears that could never show?
No, you don’t know what it’s like to wipe away your smudged makeup that you’ve worked so ******* to cover up your tearstained eyes, your cuts.
To apply a new coat, to paint on a smile that’s only real in dreams.
You know, they say dreams come true but forget that nightmares are dreams too.
They tell you the monsters are under your bed when they actually scream in your head.

You don’t know what it’s like to feel lonely in a crowd, to know you’re not wanted.
To hold and rock yourself because there’s no one else to.
To realize that you’re all you have and doing your best to hide anyway,
Do you know what it’s like to want to die?
No.
You don’t and you never will.
But I do.
You don’t know me, or what I’ve been through.
So don’t ******* judge me for it.
Sincerely,
Me
This goes out to everyone who thinks I'm too young to feel this way....to everyone who thinks depression is a phase.....to everyone who discards my feelings because I'm "too young" to feel like this....***** you.
Everyone else, have a nice day :)
The leaves of the last remaining sentries,
Continue their hopeless rebellion,
Buffeted by falling ice and gusts.
Bright green teardrops fight against the dominating grey and white,
A splash of colour lines the sides of the road.

A boy's feet slip, but he remains upright,
Continuing on along the treacherous path.
Where is he going?
He walks with purpose towards that which he knows will **** him,
His face gathers cuts from the winds serrated breath,
His hands start to bleed from every time fell.
But still he continues, unafraid, undeterred,
Certain in his undying thirst to walk,
He gathers pace, filled with strength,
His rebellion now begins to approach,
No question, his choice is foolhardy and pointless,
There is no chance of victory against such an opponent
Yet he fights through the crowds, running in the opposite direction,
And dives head first into his life's end.
But he survives.
Through some miracle of luck or chance,
He reaches the final shore,
Surrounded by green in a grey world,
Crushed but still breathing,
Though bleeding, still strong,
He takes the final step.
The tears leave paths
down my face
across my self
Cutting deep in grooves
Indentations
where I can still feel
You

Your touch
running across my cheeks
falling
I walk down those trails
aimlessly
because you are still
there
People look at me and call me all these names
Boys ******* use me and play all these games

I feel so alone, I can't take it anymore
I can't stand being called an ugly ******* *****

I go home and cry my eyes out
I don't know what to say, so I scream and shout

Walk into my room and open up a box
In there, are some treasures, and a few couple rocks

I dig a little deeper till I find what I'm looking for
It's the blade that wounds the thing deep inside my core

I take it out and stare at it for a while
I have so many reasons, they stretch out for a couple miles

I take my blade, walk to the bathroom, and lock the door
I look at myself in the mirror, and I am sure

What I am doing is of my own hand
These marks will leave their very own special brand

I hold the blade over my wrist
And when I bring it down, I feel pain and then bliss

The warm blood starts to trickle down
If anyone found out, they would do more than frown

I attack my wrist so vigorously
Scarring myself to **** the thing inside of me

Each and every time,  the feeling becomes addictive
For each cut becomes distinctive

This one is for the girl who told me I was full of crap
And this one is for the boy who called me fat

They didn't think I would take it to the heart
But actually, I am tearing myself apart

I do it once, twice, three dozen more times
I throw my ****** blade down and begin to cry

Why did I do this?
Even though I felt pain, I felt so much bliss

My troubles went away with each slice
The blood ran thicker down my arm, Jesus Christ

I start to sob and bury my head in my arms
When I look up, I feel the blood on my face, so warm

I get up and start to clean myself
I grab the towels that are on the shelf

After I see that there is no more blood
I go to my room and my emotions begin to flood

I lay in bed, hiding the scars buried deep in my wrist
I think about the hate, and my eyes begin to mist

The front door opens, and my mother come inside
She comes in my room, noticing that I have recently cried

She asks me what is wrong
I tell her in this world I don't belong

She sees my wrist and puts her hand up to her face
Oh, Allison, you belong here in this place

Please promise me you won't cut yourself ever again
One day you will hit a major vein

No one wants to lose you, your precious smile
The question is, do you want to stay with us for a little while?
This is about how I overcame cutting
Bluebird Dec 2014
you left me with
few cuts and bruises
i do not blame you.
in fact,it is all
self inflicted.
it makes me happy
it makes all the pretty
pictures of your laughter
flicker in my head.
i'm giving a part
of my flesh
to see you smile,
seems like a
really good deal.
Beth Richter Dec 2014
My throat is a desert,
Scratched sore with sand.
My cheeks soaked and stained,
With tears that will not end.

My heart faintly beating,
Each pump proves a test.
It hurts to go on living,
Yet life continues in my chest.

My nights are sleepless,
My days a misty haze.
I feel so lost without you,
Each day an endless maze.

I search for all the words,
Though never even said.
They are mixed and jumbled,
All around inside my head.

Each day I face this war,
Between remember and forget.
It weighs me down, this endless chore,
I wake each morning with regret.

They say time is the only way to heal,
Fresh cuts soon fade to scars.
So why does this pain I feel,
Still leave me dizzy, seeing stars.
Sarah M Gillihan Dec 2014
Come fix my  soul

It’s dark inside

The pain cuts deep

It’s hard to hide

Behind this mask

I’ve tried so hard

But I look within

And I’m still scarred

My arms bleed red

My eyes still sting

From dried up tears

And suffering



Come fix my soul

It’s dark inside

I cannot handle

How much I’ve cried

You say you care

Yet I still deny

No matter how many

Times you try

I can’t believe

In what you see

Cause all I see

Is filth in me



Come fix my soul

It’s dark inside

I’m still alive

Yet I feel I’ve died

I’m dying

I’m dying

I’m dying

I’m dead

From all the demons

Inside my head



Bring back my soul

Cause I have died

You might fail

But at least you tried
I feel so alone.
hazings Dec 2014
Why did I do it?
I destroyed the person inside me.
But the outside is living, breathing, just fine.
People don't notice,
I'm missing the light in my eyes
I'm missing the smile you would see every day.
I'm not really missing anything important.

I'm not even missing.
Just lost.
I found this in my binder so I was just like eh why not and I posted it.
Chelsea Patton Nov 2014
A scar on my wrist,
To you it's just a mark.
I know how it was placed there,
Alone in the darkness.
Odd how esoteric,
A single slice may be.
To me a cry for help.
For you slipped sheath.
Only the ones who done it,
Are the ones who can see.
The marks on your wrist,
Was from a mental disease.
4th poem.  Hope you guys like it.
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