I heard writing helps.
I heard people say just write
"write about what hurts"
write about the gruesome pain
write about the mental never ending rain
write about those secret tears you shed
write about the storms in your head
write about the 2 am thoughts that dont let you sleep
write about the dark memories you keep
write about those scars you daily hide
write about the reasons for your puffy eyes
write about that strange addictive ache
write about your forced smiles, just for their sake
write about those fading, yet haunting dreams
write about your quiet 3 am screams...
Just write, Just write
But little do they know
For me, what lays ahead.
Every time I put my pen to the fresh sheet of paper
These fingers only trace our name together
On the second line, they still want to write....
forever and ever.
My heart lurches.
I feel the jitters coming on.
Can you taste the acerbic air?
It's so cold.
Your eyes are frozen.
Locked beneath the hull of your anger.
The words cut almost as deep as my unkept fingernails.
Apathy rings loudly.
Empathy has yet to resurface.
Jitters have passed.
The footsteps fade.
Are you happy with yourself?
Are you happy with the way you treat people?
Do you get off on hurting those who care about you,
do you feel pleasure in causing them pain?
How does it feel tearing apart people that love you?
Is this a good thing, are you alright with this?
I try and I try.
That's where it gets me.
So many games,
we tiptoe around like we don't know what we are doing,
like we don't know what's really happening.
Keeping people at arms length,
letting them in slowly,
but not really.
Aren't you tired of games?
Why do you let me in, let me care and give and want
Just take it away
to pull back and scream and fight
I am so tired fighting,
I think I'll just be done.
Who would want to fight for you anyway?
I say I deserve better,
And I know it’s true.
But if I believe it,
Why do I keep coming back to you?
I say that I am special,
And I know I’m worth more.
But if I know,
Than what am I fighting for?
I said this is the last time,
This is the end.
But if it’s over,
Why am I back here again?
A Dagger In My Back
I kept pulling the dagger from my back
I was deceived, I was a fool
You apologised and pleaded,
Although my wounds became a growing crisscrossed pattern
You promised me that you wouldn’t pull the shutters over my eyes
You promised me you wouldn’t hug and hurt,
Wouldn’t smile but still continue to weave a fine tapestry of lies.
You shook hands with a gun behind your back.
I just blindedly smiled as the blood seeped from my veins.
But I opened the curtains, dismantled the shutters.
I realised you were the one which caused me the doubt and constant pain.
I realised that you were the dagger in my back.
I woke up this morning to you towering over the foot of my bedframe.
When I stared blankly at my cereal bowl, disinterested and afraid to eat.
I take a shower at a snails pace, petrified of returning to the mirror to be bathed once again in your foul cocoon.
When I leave the house I look down at my feet, to avert the predatory gazes of kind strangers unbeknownst to me.
As I cry alone in the bathroom stall, not knowing who to turn to for a problem that never leaves.
I just want you to know that you're killing me.
Have you ever wondered what it's like to kill someone?
I imagined it being an exhilarating experience.
One I will never forget.
Of course, you have to make sure you do it properly.
You don't want to get caught, do you?
I remember her watery, crystal eyes.
Her violet wrists and ankles.
The way her hair stood up when I touched her.
The way she winced whenever my cool blade touched her.
Was she panicking?
I remember her gasps for air.
Her hoarse, croaky voice.
A velvet sea laid out in front of me.
Red, glittery hands.
It's getter harder to see.
I fall down.
I smear the blood on the wall.
As if it were a cry for help.
I wanted to do this so badly.
Why am I now regretting it?
Guilt swarms my body.
My head aches.
Have you ever wanted to kill somebody?
Because I have.
Today's the day I fucked a blade into my stomach.
A crimson waterfall.
My final words are yours to read.
On this bloody sheet of paper.
Today's the day I shivered with a blade to my wrist.
Hesitation, but the urge to die.
My final words are yours to read.
On this creme coloured wall in red writing.
Today's the day I
I watch these fleeting scenes flit behind my eyes.
Moments where I've captured you.
The silence is unbearable.
I can't undo hurt.
Taking blame is losing my pride.
I'd give it all.
I've thrown it all away.
You lie there, in a troubled slumber.
I brace for the next slide.
Trauma on replay.
Please don't leave.