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

I played their favorite songs,
I wrote them endless lines

I gave them my mind to haunt,
I used my wrists as bait,
and they were thirsty for blood

I shrink as they grow,
I dissolve as they emerge

Melancholy is creeping
its way back through
my veins forcing me
to open up old wounds

And I hope for
something more than
a sharpened knife,
and gushing blood

Can’t feel anything
They drug me so I don’t cut
So I don’t **** myself
Won’t let me drink
Can’t get high
Can’t even **** myself
So instead
I ate... and ate...
Til my stomach hurt
Forcing it down
Feel the carbs increase my heart rate
Tiny bursts of mild pleasure
Turning into gluttonous lethargy
I guess I felt something

Ask me about my scars
I’ll show you
I want them to be seen
I want them to be known
Accepted
But I keep them hidden
For most will not understand
But if you care
If you see me
Just ask
And I’ll show you
My scars

I’m so hot...
I’m burning up
Burning out...
Wearing jackets
Sleeves
Anything to hide the marks
Prevent their discomfort
At the cost of my own

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Sugar is sweet,
And so are you.
But the Roses have wilted,
And the violets are dead.
The sugar bowl's empty,
And my wrists are stained red.

Trigger warning: Self harm, cutting


just one more line....
that's all you'll need
one line will be enough...
and then one more

one more


four more




six more



do it on your leg so they can be bigger

just.... cut.....
Over and over



OVER AND OVER

and the blood just sits there

and i stare back at it

all over my wrist

drawing on my thigh

it stings.....


but i can think
i can breathe
i felt it
my satisfaction
got my fix




but i know next time

i'll require a bit more