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kyla marie Jun 2014
last summer
I met a boy of 6 feet tall
he is two years older than me
he listens to punk rock
has an alcoholic father,
and his kisses
are sweeter than honey
and softer than silk

we spent countless, long, dreamy
cold, rainy, humid
nights
in my backyard
with the smell of too much hairspray
which I can not bring myself to smell again
and mosquito spray which I never apply anymore
11pm
4am
the hours passed by like minutes, seconds

under the stars
telling secrets
I was scared
scared of losing him
even though he was already lost

fading
disapearing
slowly and then all at once

hallways
silence
stares
me alone
him and her

11pm
4am
hours seem like eternitys, milleniums
crying
flashbacks
thinking about the us that will never be
blood spills on the paper
spelling out your words, promises
do I even cross his mind
maybe  probably not  no

I'm sorry I wasn't
skinny
pretty
funny
admirable
good
enough

I'm sorry

we didn't even say goodbye

goodbye, Brandan
this is a letter that will never be sent
Shae May 2014
A rainbow of all the shades of red
Flow out of her wrists
She’***** the right vein
Time to end her pain
Her face is pale
But that’s okay
She knows that this scared feeling
Will too prevail
She’s a coward and she’s sorry,
But she’s tired of the worry;
The constant reminder of what was done,
Snakes up her wrists and down her legs
It’s time to go
Her breathing now, is slow
She knows you’ll think this is wrong;
That she should have stayed;
She should have gotten help,
But this is right
She will not fight
When the darkness comes
And takes her life
She drops the knife
And closes her eyes
Please don’t cry
It’s time for her to die
She is not scared
Don’t think she’s lying
In this letter that she is writing,
There is no hiding
Know that she loves you
And that she’s sorry
This is her last letter
I know you’re sad now,
But you will eventually feel better
And when you look up at the sky,
Think of me and say
Goodbye
-{ksf}
Shae May 2014
Your blue eyes say gentlemen
Your wondering hands said *****
My lips said please
You answered with a push of your hips
And a kiss on my lips
I feel your grip leaving bruises;
Permanent scars
I should have known
A boy pleads innocence
Not enough evidence
A girl swallows a bottle of pills
You only whispered
You know you wanna
An ambulance is called
A funeral is held
Who would have thought?
Those who cast judgment,
Called her a liar and a *****,
Shed so many tears
Her note only said
The bruises were permanent
How did you not see?
Is this enough evidence?
-{ksf}
lerato May 2014
Heartbreak is its own form of amnesia
And sometimes music is there to numb the pain as well
But the unbearable pain has given me a seizure
Is this the end of the road for me? I can barely tell

I bleed just to feel alive
I cut everday hoping to survive
Yet the more I cut, the deeper I get
I feel further from the death trap I've set

It gets harder everyday just to breath
And when someone says they care, I find it hard to believe
Is ther anything for me in this cold world
Because I'm walking alone with no one to hold

I bleed just to feel alive
I cut everyday hoping to survive
The more I cut, the deeper I get
I'm closer to the death trap I've set
There's no one by my side
And its left me feeling broken inside
NitaAnn May 2014
Anger
Frustration
Scared
Lonely
Afraid
Hatred
Loathing**
So with these thoughts fueling my actions,
I make the conscious decision to punish my body.
I feel as though I deserve this treatment.
I cut to scar my body.
I cut to release emotions I had no valve for.
I have no words or outlet for them yet.
I cut to make myself feel better; to alleviate those feelings of hatred.
Cutting is such an enigma for me.
I do it as a punishment, for being weak and "allowing" myself to be abused...
But at the same time, the feeling I get from doing it is strength.
I look at the cuts and think, *"Wow. I was able to endure that. I am strong."
Jordan Cole May 2014
Drip, drip, drip
Goes my blood onto the sparkling white porcelain.
Blood pooling from my arm,
running down to my fingertips.
The velvety red liquid making me feel something for once,
in this cruel heartless world of ours.
The blood loss making me feel light,
giving me release from the pain I constantly live in.
Giving me escape from the real world.
The blood is running down the sink,
leaving a trail of bright red.
I watch it go down,
like my spirits.
I look into the mirror and look at what I see.
A scared, hurt, ugly little girl.
One who knows too much pain and judgement,
at such a young age.
Why is it that society tells us that we are stupid, ugly, fat and worthless?
Making us feel so pathetic,
that we turn to alcohol, drugs and self-harm.
I look at the girl staring back at me and I begin to sob.
I see every imperfection, because that's what society has taught me to see in myself.
I clean up my arm and the sink.
Turning on my computer, I see two things;
Girls trashing one another and calling each other *****,
and people saying not to listen to "The Haters", that it gets better.
Turning off the social media,
I turn my gaze to the window and I begin to think.
Why does it matter what anyone else thinks?
Why do I always feel like this?
Giving myself a headache,
I get up to go get some alive.
I see my hookah pin.
In and out goes the smoke through my lungs.
The smoke forms a pure white cloud around me and I'm enchanced.
It all looks so pure and beautiful,
yet it is so harmful.
Just like your words that you throw around.
And once you let go of them, you can't get them back.
You make people feel pathetic and worthless,
even though we are SO much more than your words.
We are people who have been put through HELL,
yet we are still here and fighting.
You of all people can't and won't bring me down.
Of course, that's what I always say.
And yet, I go to bed.
Knowing that even when I close my eyes,
the cycle of hell I live in will continue to fling me around.
And it will all just repeat,
Tomorrow.
Moral: Watch what you say to/call people. Your words DO cause damage.
Don't tell people it's gets better. It doesn't help anything. Just let them know you are there to listen to them if they get the urge to self-harm. Knowing they have someone who cares helps. Trust me.
Girls, lets all just stop calling each other ****** and *****. It sends guys the message that it is okay for them to do so, when we all know that it isn't.
Lastly; If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. That includes posting it on social media for everyone to see. It humiliates you and the other person. Act like a mature human thing and go talk it out.
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