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No people can handle this ****.
Barely those who lives through this.
All purpose seems the life in flesh;
Is horrid at its best.
A twisted sitcom show.
That’s no less then cruel jokes.
many times in deepest holes.
eyes glorify the rope.
Or mind glorifies rope.
Who knows anymore.
One realizes loneliness is where the sick is born.
One realizes loneliness is how aching hearts shall mourn.
Yet again these thoughts of red,
beg that one please will tend.
With sharp swords and gore.
Of Blades piercing flesh
Of sharp swords and gore
until limbs be torn.
Surgical mesh be drenched.
This stomach is so sore.
Destruction absorbed.
Self infliction is adored.
in that wretched mirror.
It is so crystal clear.
This face  needs disfigured
This face needs to be Seared
An urge to burn the face,
as well as to cut.
Perform practices precise.
To tame the craves;
for blades
that thrusts.
Fugly as the **** duckling.
If his feathers he began plucking.
repulsive ravishing disgust.
Spit at reflections for good luck.
Anger and vile succumb as it does.
In all ways that it can be done,
This self harm now one knows and loves.
Black seems white feathers of doves.
Insi­de black demented places.
Lurk do entities of hatred.
Laugh in masks like a masterpiece painted.
Unfazed as if one is sedated.
Forever this chaos.
in pureness created.
Dead be these roses.
in violet vases.
To remain cloaked in magic states.
Still many strife always remains.
At times it seems the blind are divine.
Dilated be these eyes.
Shall needles pierce eyeballs to disdain.
Urning to spray the eyes with mace.
Keep the hArd drugs in the brain.  coursing through collapsed and thin veins.
Keeping the *** from being laced.
Without intoxicates still insane.
Only hopelessness and endless pain.
At a young age came,
demented strange days.
Paranoid in fear;
With destructive paths near.
malevolent demeanors have now appeared.
For so long felt so helpless.
Life in all forms is selfish.
As despair impairs.
One becomes more selfless.
Remain thy light in darkness black.
While psychosis viciously attacks.
***** back
Owning a craft.
Obsessed with knives and plastic wrap.
Unorthodox ways.
Leaving blood that rains.
Up for many nights and days
Owning a craft.
This world is sad
left perception oh so mad.
One of  my longer poems, it will be used as lyrics for my project
Pauper of Prose Dec 2018
She marched on herself
All battle lines and banners
Weapons reflecting one another
Horns howled
So that two sides packed into combat
Crushing, piercing blood splattered blows
Heaps of fallen bodies
And the mounting casualties
Castrated the confidence
Of the two sides of the girl
Who marched on herself
Burn your skin. Burn your throat  
With a cup of gin,  
Don't pretend that you prevent  
A red glow searing in.  

In your soul no control,  
Through the skin and through the vein,  
The edge of pain can drown it all,  
And gin cuts the pain.  

Cold as blade, then searing hot,  
The words so soft and nice:  
A carefree home, no lighting rod,  
Before you struck it twice

Burn your soul
Because the wounds on the outsides
Are unlike the ones on the inside:
They will always heal.
I  made the original poem better
Carter Ginter Jan 2018
I have bad thoughts
Of beautiful things
The color red
Oozing from my pale skin
The simplicity of a clean line
Only to be ruined by smeared blood
Why do these thoughts haunt me?
Am I obsessed with my own pain?
Or simply so ****** up
That I find beauty
In the face of my demons
A piece I wrote awhile ago while cutting paper with a ridiculously fine blade
Carter Ginter Jan 2018
I wanna see the blood
I wanna see the pain
I wanna prove that my body
Is nothing more than a frame
My mind is screaming
Parts of it beg me to bleed
The others demonize those pleas
I just don't want to feel this way anymore
And I suppose it's my own fault
I know how I get
When I start drinking then stop
Maybe that's why I always overdo it
Because then I can get sick and sleep
Before this depression takes its hold
And sets my demons free
Digging and clawing at my mind
Until I do the same to my own skin
Drugs have left me numb.
My doctor gave me some.
So high I can't believe.
I love it,
I need it,
My doctor says it helps easee me
Their easeeing izzie
Change me , break me
Love me,hate me
Warp my being.
I have fake friends and progamable teachers.
Ordered to do as they do.
Empty of everything especially opinion unless it has with it gods intent.
This is all done to prevent separation
(Once more there is still segregation)
This only incites rebellion in me.
I hate this place so how do I escape.
Do I run or stay and go away in another way.
South parks advice is to just quit twitter.
This world isn't worth it to scaredto **** myself.
So I cut ,cut and cut my wrist
To take away my strife and find bliss.
School is honestly the route of almost evil it's a hub for people who like to pick on people to let their issues out its no place for a child no one deserves the endless ridicule that a pain please help the little guy stuff the big guy and the worst part is my school tends to protect the bullies more than the bullied.
Chloe Nov 2017
I wake up just in time to watch the sun set on the horizon.
I stay up all night to watch it rise again.
3:00am is when I demons start to roam,
And before I know it my sadness becomes my home.
I self medicate with drugs and alcohol that I know I don't need.
I do it to stop the craving of wanting to watch myself bleed.
I look at the scars that cover my skin.
They mock me, I'm trying so hard not to give in.
I sleep all day so I don't have to fake a smile.
I wish happiness was a mood that stayed for a while.

I wake up just in time to watch the sun set on the horizon.
I stay up all night to watch it rise again.
A poem about my struggle with mental illness, addiction, and self harm.
Squeezing out water droplets
Just before bed
I'm reminded of what I miss
The definition of what I called "freind"
Was changed eternally

I ran out of work manic,
Raced to the tatoo shop
And got what I had wanted for so long
A fish fossil right there on my forearm
Coverings for angry cuts
I went home and cleaned it, runned it down with lotion
And I'm reminded of this familiar sting

Flashbacks hit
And I was 14 again
Sitting on the porch with you nursing my wounds
My arms were swollen and sore
Sliced from top to bottom
And you were the only soul I told
You wrapped me up in bandages
And showed me yours
You said "see we're both ******* up!"

8 years later I lie on a mattress in a living room floor
Punched in the gut by the thought of you
And how you could take your own life also took my best freind

Emptiness has this warm subtle sting and I'd rather feel pain than nothing
But it's not self destruction anymore, it's therapy

And it makes me feel close to you.
This one isn't necessarily my style but I'm trying this honesty thing where I feel something intensely then write it down no editing, no working ******* it just getting it out of my head and onto the page.
Slow agony but still I cut binds
Blood filling every crevace as I go
If life was meant to be easy God would've made me pretty
I down my medication
And bind myself again
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