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N Dec 2019

Christopher is utterly wrapped
within the cocoon of his own mind.

One can vividly see him
as he struggles with
understanding what
others think, feel, and believe.

Therefore, his self-identity,
his idea of himself,
is practically the same as his
sense of the outside world.

2.
Unlike everyone else,
Christopher does not seem to care
about being identified by other people.

He prefers to spend his time by his lonesome,
it somehow keeps him more connected with
reality which is something he struggles with.

3.
Christopher is quite an observer,
he views the world
in a distinct, but a unique way.

4.
Christopher never uttered the word father,
for it was heavy on his tongue,
like heavy rain on a bleak midnight.  

His mother loved him, or
ruined him and called it love.
He cannot tell the difference
between these two things.

So whenever he loved someone,
he’d unintentionally break their heart,
and utterly ruin any chance of love.

5.
Christopher beloved was
in the shape of a knife,
so he used her to write this story.
The gushing blood was his ink,
and the tears were his last silent screams
A short story.
Gray Dawson Nov 2019
Wrapped in metal wire
Jagged edges keep me contained
I intend to fly higher
But I’ve been drained

I’m stuck on the ground
String wrapped around your arm
I’m being drowned
Within an emotional storm

Your tears bring me down
And hope gives me nightmares
Let me go without a frown
Only set free with new mindsets

Just a balloon wrapped in a razor blades
And barbed wire
N Nov 2019
Blood is red
Veins are blue
Mix the two colors together,
and they will leave a bruise
The knife is purple too. Sometimes black.
savannah Nov 2019
?
i don’t know what to write about
I’m scared how it’ll turnout
should I write about my feelings?
how i feel like i’m freezing
how i’m hurting?
it’s just so disconcerting  
how i’m scared?
it’s so absurd
scared to see my mom,
my friend,
my therapist,
is she going to call me weak?
i could’ve dealt with the pain for 2 more weeks
she’d remind me
just two
then i will be better.
but will i?
should I write about something funny?
i’ll pretend to be a dummy
fake a smile
till i walk down the isle
like everyone says
“fake it till you make it”
my mom would be proud
I just can’t cry too loud
i’ll tell her i’m feeling better
will i have to do that for forever?
then i won’t feel so bad about her paying for therapy
I dont want to be her priority
i’ll tell her my new pills are working.
hopefully that will take off her burden
should I write about my dad?
how he’s so perfect
everyone says they would be so happy if he would be their dad
or that im tired?
but im too scared to sleep
i don’t want to wake up in tears dreaming about her
how we were
i can’t feel anything
but when i bleed i can
i feel the ****** tears falling down my arm
i hate it
but i love it
why?
or do i write about love?
that love makes people happy
or so sad
but what is love?
when she says she loves me
she tells the other one the same.
but i still don’t know what to write about
just me and my tired, scared, broken, lost brain.
Empire Nov 2019
Trigger warning: Self harm, cutting, substance abuse


the ceaseless agony
she endures and endures and endures....
until the burdens force her knees to give
everything weighs so heavily on her
and in her desperation
what else could a suffering mind do
but frantically seek refuge
earnestly pursuing escape....

the meds aren't enough
the pain cuts through them
so she wonders....
how many could she take?
two... three little white pills?
might it help?

she knows they'd notice the missing bottles
but she longs for a heavy intoxication
a dumb bliss
a few hours of happiness
let the pain melt away
replace it with stupor

so she considers lesser options
she could binge eat for mild pleasure
intertwined with heavy guilt
she could **** herself
oh right.... she can't because of the meds
nothing else offers her any feeling
she seeks emotionally charged art
music, poetry, shows
but it's not enough
it's never enough

so, in her desperation
when all else has failed
when the agony is unbearable
no solace in sight
she opens the drawer
in the safety of her room
uncaps her tool
sterilizes the edge
sets the metal to her skin
and drags it across
'til she drips red
N Nov 2019
A knife
caressing my thighs
to my wrists

A chemical mixture
swallowed down
with a drink

A lover
you’ve never tasted
SophiaAtlas Nov 2019
Broken wings
Broken heart
Why did I let them
Tear me apart?
My lips bleed out
The words I hold in
My wrists shine
With the letters iv'e engraved
They all say the same thing,
"Help!"
Empire Nov 2019
Trigger warning: Self harm, cutting, suicidal thoughts


If she drives the blade deep enough
Will it fix her?
As crimson pours out of her skin
Slowly seeping out
She feels... relief
finally... relief...
Like releasing her life force
Setting herself free
She watches as the blade moves
Allowing it to do what it will
It doesn't matter anymore
If it eases her hell... it'll do
Each stroke more desperate than the last
A need to feel
So she digs it in deeper
She draws it out longer

And, as always,
There's this thought
That one so terrible she tries to ignore
The thought.... to make it fatal
Empire Nov 2019
It's all slipping
Everything is getting worse
Worse..... and worse....
The cuts are getting deeper
The scars are staying longer
The thoughts are growing louder
Everything is falling apart
I thought... I thought I could do it
I thought I could hold myself together
But the strain... it's wearing on me
The fatigue is making me weak
I've begun slipping...
All the pieces of my life
Falling from my grasp
In a violent cascade
I don't even want to try anymore
I just want to let them crash to the ground
Shatter like glass
As they slip from my fingertips

Then and only then
Will I be able to finally surrender
When I hear the darkness calling my name
Drawing me to the edge of the chasm
And maybe
If I'm very lucky
I'll slip
How merciful that would be...

I seem to be experiencing suicidal ideation tonight
N Nov 2019
The feeling
of a hot blade
on my wrist

How gentle is
its sharpness
How soothing is
the stinging pain

Sometimes that’s the
only way I could
remind myself; that
this body of mine,
or at least parts of it
still want to heal
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