(TW: Self-Harm and Suicidal Ideation)

I wish the night was more than a fleeting mirage
Coming one moment and leaving the next
I wish the darkness would surround me in its velvety cloth
Not the absence of light, but the absence of life
The darkness of total and permanent nothingness
I wish my capillaries, veins, and arteries would peal open
Slowly, agonisingly
I want to watch the final drop of crimson drain from my body
Creep slowly down my finger
Trancing the path already traced by his brothers
He will linger at the very tip of my nail
Before falling
Plummeting
Careening
Into the tiled floor
Only then will I shut my eyes
I will let darkness trail his supple fingers down my body
Encasing me in his eager embrace
He will wind himself around me until there is nothing left
But for a small white corpse upon a brilliantly painted floor
And no one will find me
Because no one will be left to care

Step 1: Sign away your rights

Step 2: Take your medicine

Step 3: Don’t tell them you’re a witch

I will soak my mind in kerosene
and strike the match with my teeth;
I will burn myself to the ground
a thousand times
before I will become
the worst of my natural beast

Only when there are no options
will the stinging vines trap me there
in the ditch of a cursed existence.
Only then will the mud at my feet
finally seize the rest of me
and feast on my warrior bones

I've been thinking about killing myself
It's not that I'm sad or anything
At least, I don't think I am
It's gotten harder to tell the difference these days
The hours grow shorter and shorter and every day seems to abruptly end when I open my eyes
Tell me more about yourself
About your favorite food and the homework you hate
Did you know that, while drawling on, when the light hits your eyes just right, they glimmer?
The water here is strange
Too warm or far too cold
With a weird bitter taste
Weird like the bitter-blue sky that stretches on like it does in movies
The kind of movies that you watch when you're on the road that you can never quite remember

I've been thinking of killing myself
Maybe it's because I never know what to do with my hands when I walk
Or perhaps it's that the ghosts in the walls just won't stop staring
The lights here are pretty bright, y’know?
So bright that they illuminate every pore, mole, and imperfection on people's faces
Stare too long and you can even see their sins
Every strained brow and disgruntled look in their eyes

I've been thinking about killing myself
I know that it's bad and won't solve any of my problems, but, God, I could use a break
Something to stop time for a moment
Even if that moment lasts eternity
There's this spot on my palm that won't stop itching
I scratch away endlessly but there's something deeper there
Maybe if I could just peel away the flesh, reveal the sinewy underbelly beneath my callused skin
Maybe then I'd find some meaningful part of myself

I've been thinking about killing myself
Not in an extravagant way
One that will horrify all who hear
But something gentle
Something soft
Soft as my cat's fur when she snuggles close while I cry
Soft as the blankets I cling to every morning praying for a few extra minutes
Your voice is kind of soft, too
Would you sing me a lullaby?
Just like how my mother used to when I was little
Mom will be sad again, won't she?

what happens when you're forever stuck in a transitional phase?
where the hours to days to months and years of time
keep repeating,
where you live in loops while you wait
for something better to come
or better yet - to be something more,
to become something you've always wanted to be.
but your floors are still covered with things you used to love
and its getting harder to do your laundry every week
sometimes you don't want to be home anymore but you know you should;
there's no where else to truly go,
nothing like a home.
what happens when a signal
finally dies out?
does the receiving end ever stop to acknowledge
this loss of electrical power?
no more surging through the seams of life,
i stay stagnant without wanting to be.

my beautiful body is killing me,
it longs to seek no rest.
even without weighing myself
every hour is a moral test.
do i even want to be here?
could i be here and just be me?
but every minute is an endless sea
reminding me that i'm never free.
most days i feel like i was never meant to be
because my beautiful body is killing me.

my beautiful body is killing me,
it keeps me as cold as ice.
i no longer feel my fingers from the moment i arise.
and even when i want to eat,
looking at a plate of food usually suffices'.
and i don't want to be this way anymore,
i don't want to be alone.
i don't want to wonder for the rest of my life wondering what its like to have a home...
but no one holds me close enough anyways,
so alone is usually the best way to go.
when i fade away from everything i have ever known,
my beautiful body reassures me its okay -
that its probably better off to die this way.
that i was a failure when i was around them every day.
that i couldn't ever keep up with any game life ever tried to bestow to my name.
and its just better this way.
its just better this way.

my beautiful body calls so much attention,
but never any real recognition.
no true understanding of how strong a mission
it afflicted me with for total abolition.
to leave my mother with all of my favorite sweaters,
in an empty room with empty boxes,
packing away her daughters necklaces and lockets
and praying that it never ended up this way.

that her daughter could just come back one day.
that she had never become a spiritual stray.
that i had never become an apparition with no face, or no name.

my beautiful body is not beautiful,
it ravages me whole. every day that could of been happy
that anorexia stole. i can't help but face the reality that
i'm no longer on parole
i'm back in it again. and i don't want to be.
so don't call me beautiful please.
you just have no idea so you really can't see
how much of a waste of life i grew up to be.

It occurs to me that
I used to fear the dark
How odd to have known so much more of myself than of the world
What could be out there?
Lying in wait
All of the wildest threats of my imagination not yet disproved

Now the darkest corners of my mind lay unexplored
And I have grown worldly in my age
I am the monster now
And I am already in my bed