Suki 3h
How many times do I have to break down on the bathroom floor?
How many times do they have to scream?
How many times do I have to bleed?
And how many times is too much?
Surrounded by people
yet nobody cares.
Voices thundering
but no one's there.

Do this, do that,
conform to our views.
Bow down, submit,
it's ok to be used.

Drink your liquor
try to run from the pain
Make it worse
and drown in the rain.

Ignite your bud,
mind light and floating.
Indulge in sweets,
ignore the bloating.

Slice your skin,
unveil the mask.
Enjoy relief
which never lasts.
Allison Wonder 2019
bad habits
the normalization of disfiguring one’s self
a daily roadblock.
a bountiful collection of poor decisions
that i’ve lined up upon my wrist.
a bile curdling hatred of my fading wounds,
they are the only ones that stay.
bad habits
they are the only ones that stay
A scarlet flower on his wrist,
His vision starts to cloud with mist,
He's slipping down the cold, wet floor,
No strength to hold him up no more;

he smiles even through the pain,
The shower turned on, dripping like rain,
Nothing left to keep him sane,
His blood spreading as a scarlet stain;

He dimly hears his favorite song,
The desire to live not anymore so strong,
He wants to disappear and fade,
Like a blossom in a glade;

The pain's slowly leaving him,
Nothing left but a shell on the floor,
His soul reaches out toward the bright light,
He's finally happy, happy in flight
Don’t need a brush or art tools
I use razor blades
My body is the canvas
Painting whole landscapes
I don’t need art talent
Inspired by my own sorrow
Abstract red strokes on my skin
I just don’t want to be here tomorrow
Its’s the loneliest I’ve been.
wrote this for you.
I have tally marks slice all up my wrist
My arm, and my legs, a lined up list

Each ****** carving is a count
For every heart stabbing doubt

Short cuts arent always the answer
But neither are banaged broke bridges

I have counted how many times I've be slaughtered
I've kept track, the scars should prove it

Hiding the ****** count is as difficult as hiding a murdered body

We cover it with long sleeves and jeans...
And even when people see them, 99% of them dont give a dang

....Very few have said anything
...and those who have...
I know truly love .e til the very day I die....

It's time to stop counting...
And time to start looking up a d walking forward

And let the scars show
Yes they are a reminder of the pain
But also a reminder of
.....the words will always hurt more the  the blade...
Oops I did it again
That will be another scar
It will bleed
It will hurt
It will be like me

Oops I did it again
Only he can cry
I can't
I try
But I fail

Oops I did it again
I let the river flow out of my arm
I let the bed sheets get stained again
I let my room fill with this dark red fluid
It happened again

Oops I did it again
I let my self go
I just did it
This time is has been more deeper than ever
This will bleed for a while

Oops I did it again
I feel this warm trickle flow down my arm
I am sitting here shirt less
I am getting cold, I have to be
But yet I don't feel it
I don't cry
I don't shiver
I feel nothing
I am nothing
I just need to be gone
I am not human anymore
shamori 7d
Attached for life
A reminder of tough times

Not to remind me of tougher times, but to remind me that I’m still in tough times

Can I cover up how I feel with how I feel?

Just to look down and feel ashamed of how ashamed I am?

Will you look at my skin and wonder of a story? Ask for my motivation? Or look at my skin and make up a story and wonder on my lack of motivation?

I feel good about my designs. They define me.
I hate these designs. Because they don’t define me.

With pain comes pleasure. A sign of living.
With that pleasure comes numb and a longing for living.
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