My body is a canvas;
And whether I decorate it with
Tattoos or cuts
Shouldn't be your problem.

'why are you still in here?'
someone asked her.
'why am i still in here?'
she asked herself. confused.
then she go to another place.
'why are you in here?'
another people asked her.
'why am i in here?'
she asked herself. again.
'useless'
someone shout it loud to her ears.

then she realize
that nobody wants her
she's useless
and
unwanted

so she go to her bedroom
where nobody can  found her
where she can be alone
the demons took all the control
she takes the blade under her pillow
and cut her wrists
wishing for dead

it happen again tomorrow
and the day after tomorrow
and when she's not strong enough
she cut herself again and again
she can't keep it to herself
she's not strong anymore
she thinks she's unwanted and useless
and the other night
in the rainy day
she killed herself

I am calm as the sea.
People get confused, they claim the sea is wild and free
but the metaphor there they cannot see.
Every time I try to swim I just simply sink
tied down by anchors of my past, or at lest
that's what I think.
I need you so, but it's my fault I let you go,
I set you free 'cause I simply knew we couldn't be.
Your words are haunting my head
late at nights when I'm all alone, I can't stop wishing I was dead.
It was you and me, but never us
and there's nothing more to discuss, I'm left here with open cuts.
So I'll swim in this endless sea of pills and alcohol, and as I'm fading away from here, I'll finally be calm as the sea.

My body had been a torn up battle ground red streaks everywhere.
I never thought i would be better. except i did get better at least for awhile.
Deep down i thought i would never rip my body up again  despite that i knew it would happen.Then after a month or so of okay.
It happened  i drew with my silver blade. it left small red lines all over my thigh. easy to hide but it leaves a painful smile.
Torn up again and again will it ever end.

As quite as the room was
my thoughts began to make noise
as my thoughts and actions took
each other by hand and hand
the symphonic, bittersweet harmony
arose from my thoughts and onto my skin
colliding with a blade of steel like a
horse-hair stringed bow to the copper
wire on a delicately crafted violin
getting louder and louder, the scene does,
with every vigorous sawing motion of hand and tears streaming,
the symphony came to a stop with one
sharp note and a crooked smile.
She rest with corrupt joy as a reward for all of the hard work done; as
the notes were written down-- not on paper,
but on skin.

negative words cut into me
they leave their wounds

old cuts flare up now and then
I hear the world screaming
I am not good enough,
even when I am the only person around

the negative voices in my head
are slowly quelled by the daily spiritual path
based on love and service,
and each subtle damage is being transformed
to scars that teach