there was a time, i remember
when my ribs were filled with innumerable seeds
and with the promise of spring there came a downfall
it was then that i grew,
my bones, they breathed in lilac
my lungs blossomed, dripping with floral honey
so i could taste sweetness

my ribcage, it bloomed this garden
but everyone picked the petals of my precious flowers
until i was left with far gone stems
that was when my anatomy cracked

this earth, it stomped on them
a skeleton that once held meadows shattered its bones
at least there are no more flower stains
but it's rotting inside
those decaying bones are friends with
my rose-tinted blood

I have grown sick of the same beat inside of my head; of picturing myself lying on the floor in a crimson pool of my own making, of picturing myself finally silencing my thoughts with a bullet to my head or the cool kiss of concrete. The thoughts never stop pounding on my front door, they use the splinters of my sanity to drive stakes into my head like plots in a graveyard. The frantic knocking has the elegant rhythm of knees clacking, knuckles cracking, thoughts crashing, and swords clashing against my skin. My thoughts are beating against the shore and the tide is rising. It is choking me to death, but I hardly notice, for I have been holding my breath too long. Perhaps this is a sign it is time to greet Death with wide arms instead of palms held open as I have for so long. Maybe it is time to accept I have become nothing  more than Death's ***** *****, to resign myself to a life of  being ****** when for so many nights I have been ****** over and ****** up. Perchance the hands of  the clock have crept down to the moment in which I greet Death with a wide-eyed grin of infatuation when for so long we have spared each other but the sidelong looks of star-crossed lovers. I ache for the day when Death and I's mouths may finally meet and I may at last stop worrying about choking on the black waste of my mind and body. Life caught me up in its arms and held me so tightly I lost my grip on reality, and I know one day Death will claim me once again and hold me to its heart six feet underground.

Sadness is my home
Claws digging into my skin
My hands the culprit

oh honey she’s too busy thinking of creative ways of killing herself to pay you any attention,
lying at night with her limbs hanging off the sides of her bed beckoning the monsters underneath to pull her under.
maybe then will she have company so that the demons in her head can take the day off,
so she can breathe without the constant weight weighing heavy in her mind.

the only patterns in her grayscale world are self-made, nah, more like self-inflicted;
there’s the cigarette burns that dot her threadbare skirt and the
the only smile she has is the ones on her wrists, but somehow i think the jagged red lines weren’t made with lipstick, no not this time.

there’s grace in her stillness; she's coiled like a python about to strike.
bite before you’re bitten, yeah.
an arrow pulled back in the embrace of a bow, she hardly quivers.
aim and point,
determination to reach her target is the only constant she can count on
slicing through the air with a trained precision,
all teeth and fangs and broken glass.
no amount of touch can erase those who tracked dirt in her house before you,
you can’t make her forget the kisses trailed down her thighs before you,
not when those lips were dripping acid and winters passed, even now she still burns.
the corroding is invisible to everyone but her.
it will take more than snow to erase all that you’ve known

I see your posts online,
you disgust me with your lies,
telling people their ugly,
you're filthy and vile,
you get your joy,
from the harm of others,
well I'm here to tell you,
it's not funny it's not cute,
Self-harm is a real problem,
Can't you see the pain you cause is wrong,
I should know how much it hurts,
because I was one of those people,
yes you hurt me,
the scars on my arm every one can see,
but the ones on my heart are the ones that bleed,
and yet the scars are nothing,
compared to my insecurities,
the self-harm,
is self-consuming,
it isn't funny,
it isn't cute,
you cause pain,
to pure beauty,
marring your skin,
with false shame,
because of filth,
that ruins dreams,
they aren't good enough,
to cause you pain,
but you let them in,
it's all the same,
I was one of you,
I have felt your pain,
I want to help you,
I want to say your name,
I know how it feels,
to want to die,
to stop breathing,
and begin to fly,
I've sat alone,
and started to cry,
the darkness consuming,
my very life,
but I fought,
and I made it back,
back to my life,
back on track,
and I realized,
That the ones who brought me down,
were the ones who should cry,
they have issues,
and they try,
to make themselves feel better,
with their malicious lies,
Self-harm isn't worth it,
don't cut and don't hurt,
and to the people who made me feel this way,
self-harm isn't funny,
I see right through your lies,
My insecurities are permanent,
but look into my eyes,
I'm a better person,
for the hardships you gave me,
because my friends need me,
and I need them,
I asked for help they saved me,
and now extend the favor,
if you need help,
just come to me,
I'm always here to help,
I know your pain,
And the one truth I know,
Is written in my mind,
Though you cause pain successfully,
self-harm isn't funny.

When I made the decision to leave behind everything that I loved, it wasn't my choice, it wasn't me giving you enough.

When I endowed with you my trust, it wasn't my intention to surrender to your endless suffering attention.

I was never enough for you, never the boy you wanted, I never earned your hate, always avoiding being confronted.

You hated when I would cry, hating me, cursing me, telling me to die.

And now the thin red marks, lining my wrists, show everyone how much I will never be missed.

When my life ends soon, they should all blame you, the one who said never to yourself should you stay true.