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Lux May 17
Locked up in your bathroom bleeding,
no one ever hears me pleading.
Always hiding your arms and thighs,
tears filling up your eyes.

You are hurting but no one sees,
feeling pain to give you ease.
Somehow wishing people see it,
understand the bottom we hit.

Forever making sure it´s hidden,
telling family is forbidden.
All I want is peace,
stop calling the police.

One day I will cut too deep,
for my body to keep.
Blood covering the bathroom floor,
finally done with this war.
N Dec 2022
The seasons changed,
but he still kept wearing
his yellow sweater during
the hottest weather

He spoke in three languages,
but has only felt the word:
and the joyous absence of it

He wondered who he would be
without his suffocating sweater,
and the word: Melancholy

He never uttered the word father
for it was too heavy on his tongue,
as the heavy rain on a bleak morning  

His mother loved him dearly,
or ruined him and called it love

A man has fallen in love with him,
and he felt for the first time; the
warmth of equally returned love

His lover swallowed his heart, and
told him it was the final act of love

After ten years of insomnia,
he stopped measuring happiness
based on how many nights he slept,
a funeral rose in his heart as he wept

He muttered the word:
as if it were
a prayer,
or a lullaby

Drawing road maps on his flesh
was his only consolation,
he chose the color red
to find his missing path

Scars between his thighs
as hidden treasures—
Centuries deep away from
people’s piercing gaze

His new beloved was
shaped as a knife
They embraced
for the last time,
and the gushing blood
was his final act of love
Anastasia Aug 2022
Oh, dear girl
How beautiful you are
How kind and colorful
I see your pain
I see the gashes underneath your clothes
The angry lines on your precious flesh
You burn your pain
Away into smoke
Crimson eyes
Not just from the tears
But from the blunt between your fingers
How I wish
To take your hurt
So you don’t grow up with faint white crosses
On your pretty limbs
You deserve to have your lovely smile
Displayed for all to see
Alex Jul 2022
Here I am sitting on my bedroom floor with a razor in my hand wondering if 155 days sober is enough to deter me from cutting again.

I have been so proud of myself for all of those days,
even when I was at one week and I didn’t think it was enough,
and even when I wanted to hurt myself so bad that I thought I might throw up.

I don’t want those days to have been for nothing,
but I can’t help but think of that time last summer when I was in a constant state of anxiety for 7 days straight during which I tried every trick to calm myself down,
and nothing worked, so I resorted to self harm.

Now my stress and anxiety have been building up for about a month,
and I am so exhausted that I actually did throw up,
and I can’t get up in the morning because I am so paralyzed by all my thoughts,
and I start thinking to myself
“What could be so bad about one little cut?”
N May 2022
I could swear I’ve felt your touch once,
I wonder why you couldn’t
bare seeing my raw wounds?

You know,
it is never gentle to disturb
the dead with the promise of love
So why did you do it, darling?
Gracie Anne Jan 2022
Rubber bands wrap my body
The tan pseudo-office-supplies
Run in lines akin to guitar strings.
They’re both slippery and stiff,
And they pull in their surroundings
Holding them close like rubber bands do.
They are the reason I’m still whole.
Constricting around my body and mind,
Keeping everything together.
But when they begin to fail at that job
And thus threatening I fall to pieces,
I simply add some more,
To reinforce the wrapping’s reliability.
My biggest self harm scars are thick and raised and they remind me of rubber bands.
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