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woe Sep 10
Scratch by scratch
The knife is marking my wrist
Tears are streaming down my face
But I feel numb.

Scratch by scratch
I keep leaving shallow scrape on my shin
Tears are streaming down my face
It's starting to hurt.

Scratch by scratch
There's a reddish stroke lining my spine
Tears are streaming down my face
I'm finally alive.
Lorelei Gill Sep 9
The painter has her paintbrush.
She swipes and glides it across,
A picture of red moves and she smiles.

The sensation of this pretty picture,
Gives her pure bliss.
Pouring her heart and thoughts into this picture.
And smiling as she starts to see black.

Over a hundred glides from her sharp paintbrush,
But that isn't enough
Sadly she knows she needs to stop,
If she does not want anyone to suspect.

She cleans her weapon.
She smirks and wraps the art in white,
Enjoying the pain.
Then she lays down, closing her eyes, and falls into a dreamless sleep, hating herself.
This is one of my older pieces. I hope you enjoy.
Shofi Ahmed Sep 9
Give nife to bed people
they will kill.
Give it to good people
they will save people.
duncan Sep 8
bodies for my shrapnel
lay limp on the street
like dogs in the summer time.
i will bring my storm to you.
have faith in my punch,
believe it.

but don’t you trust
a survivor.
they wouldnt know
how to leave a city in wake.
they wouldnt know not to
pull the knife out.

i am a hurricane with skin
and i will
rip your house in half
if i have time to catch a glimpse.

you can pack your bags
and flee but
i dont stay gone.
i live on forever,
i dont die easy.
the toll will raise.
i havent had internet for awhile so im posting a few that have been building up
Ginger R Aug 17
My face,
Sitting above
A collision of worlds

One, heartless, cold and empty of love
Waiting until the knife can plunge
Deep into an enemy's soul

Another, sad, full of depression
Wondering when it all
Will end

Yet another, sits on the water's edge
Playing with the waves
But stuck on a cloud

The next, with a sword at hand
Charging through the enemy's land
Ambition coursing through its veins

One is sitting on a throne of glass
Fantasy running free
Imagination the king and queen

There is still more, smaller lives
They lead me, day to day
As they sit below
A poker face
Where
Happiness
Plays pretend
A lot of my "worlds" are characters I've written about that I put a piece of me in, and it gives me a life back.
Kora Sani Aug 15
You held the knife
as I guided it into my own heart
The first time was painful;
stinging as it pierced through my skin,
paying no mind to the bones that lived there

I placed all the blame on you
But still, you kept that knife
And you learned how to use it without my guidance
Again and again

You wanted to help stitch me back together
But you don't have the expertise
So you used tape
With the slightest movement the tape would fall;
taking me with it

And I've never healed
A scar will always remain
Roschana Aug 15
Her hands hold the knife
Her mind holds her hands
Her ego holds her mind
Her soul holds her will to live

The touch of her knife

Only now it resides deep in her wounds
Aching, she pulls on her life
Around her she watches all those concerned
Somehow she stays centred like the true Bull she is
Soon enough she will drop the knife

For her hands will get tired
For her mind will go crazy
For her ego will get bored
For her soul is stronger than them all
cait-cait Aug 14
you have cheated me—
and now i am going to skin you alive .
.

forgotten ,
i am desperate to be swallowed whole
as you look right through me
like a window,

in greens and grays...
i could be rotting,
d y i n g .
.

and i know you would still not see
me whole .
.
.

so ,
am i just a walking corpse
to you ?

my face
merely
unrecognizable flesh?

eyes like little pearls ,
the sky is pink and i can’t even cry ...
and still you are standing
t a l l .
            .
              .

but even invisible,
i know i can still hold a knife and
i can still know
rage.

and you can still pretend that i don’t exist ,
praying
that i never try to kill you.
.
someone didn’t acknowledge me and it broke something deep in my heart and soul. i am out for blood and it’s literally not funny anymore.
Tanaya Aug 12
The Art of Stealing Hearts-
A curse of the purest kind.
I mistook myself for the divine.
Now I lay on the corpses of who my suitors once were,
as part of the history as every single one of them.
I lay still atop,
with a knife slit through my chest,
and a drop of regret in my eyes.
Little had I realised,
whilst I slaughtered your love like
every single one of theirs,
that your heart had mine in it.
And I carved it out with a lonesome bloodied knife,
And now I lay here still,
still.
The curse was probably never about stealing hearts,
It was maybe about letting mine be stolen with yours.
Every. Single. Time.
Dedicated to my toxicity...
Tharuki Aug 12
"The cigarette,
is a metaphor
they don't kill you
unless you light them
and I've never lit one,
you put the killing thing
between your teeth
but you don't give it the power
to do the killing"
-Augustus Waters
-
You see the knife
is a metaphor too
as it touches your skin
and you feel the pain
as it slices through
but it never goes deep enough
to kill you
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