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Ara Apr 2020
I spilled some blood on the bathroom floor, mama,
But I swear it was an accident.
See, my hand slipped across porcelain, mama;
My skin tore like satin.

The paint flowed like a river then, mama,
And colored me a crimson sunset.
Oh, but it made such a mess, mama,
And I know messes make you upset.

So close your eyes, mama,
'Cause you're weeping red and the tears might stain.
Red for your lost love and red for scarlet fire,
and red for the young rose cut from the briar.

Maybe now I could be poetry, mama
The type you wrote about in your younger days.
Golden sun swallowed in carmine, mama
With its last rays dying in a blaze.
Trigger warning: self harm/suicide implied.
Copyright © 2019 Aranza V. Soto Torres. All rights reserved.
Jay May 25
Collagen created
By drawing across skin,
A boy playing with blades,
Stretching his flesh thin.

Collagen ladders
Made in his war,
Leading up his side.
He will make no more.

Collagen scars,
Spelling out words
Of hate and disgust,
Fade slowly from his form.

Collagen fades,
But memory doesn't.
He'll look back with a smile
When the future becomes present.
Jay May 25
One more word, and I'll blow up.
One more day, and I'll grow up.
One more drink, and I'll throw up.
One more week, and I'll give up..

But words don't have to be said-,
Growing is an ongoing process,
Drinks don't have to be alcohol,
And help is easily available.

You don't have to give up like me. We can work through this, okay?
Elliott G May 17
The chandelier still hangs high
above the wooden ballroom floor;
Its rusting branches,
even though they're made of gold,
wrap around the orange coils
which lie dead amidst the night.
The clock strikes midnight,
yet no bells are to be heard;
The carpet leading up the staircase
to the podium in the room.
Crimson, velvet, and scarlet
covered with a thin layer of dust;
even if unused, it's seen an eternity of lives.
The broken windows lend themselves
to silver strings of moonlight,
which slither through them;
venomous beasts waiting to strike.
Falling in straight rays,
the delta of light's rivers
crystalize the concrete walls,
with a tapestry of the finest silk,
intertwined with threads of
fake gold.
The stillness grows thick,
Fog of dawn refuses to leave,
lingering to see the spectacle unfold.
A figure at the top of the staircase,
the spotlight of moonshine
leaking through the dome atop the room,
caresses its curves, swims into crevasses
highlights the bold edges,
paints the skin silver, the gown royal red.
In one hand, bare, slim, and pale white,
fingers tighten slightly into a fist.
In the other, a shard of broken glass
one arm held up to the sky,
to the heavens, reaching out to God
Yet God had stopped listening millennia ago.
The other hand, stretched out slowly making its way down
Driving the glass through the layers of skin
slowly, rhythmically, decisively.
A slow, small stream of red
slithers down the arm,
grows larger with every inch it moves;
and the stream never stops.
The stream grows to a river,
The river to a sea,
reaching the elbow below,
now spewing red liquid
faster and faster onto the marble floor.
Another hand to the sky,
now this one bare in all its beauty.
Another blade driven through the artery,
Another stream flows down the forearm.
The figure in silence drops the shard
folds its hands in front,
and stands facing out
to the world it will depart.
The floor now a lake;
the thick liquid doesn't stop,
The figure caresses its chin,
Slips the gown down to its hips
Bathing in the moonlight one last time
Before it closes its eyes
Stares into the red Ballroom
Now red of its own accord.
** TW **
- s*icide
- s*lf harm
- blood
Vale Luna May 16
Time slithers away
Fed to the infinite void
that is the past
It slinks slowly into the present.
Why do blood and roses
share the same color?
A crimson droplet
A crimson petal
Both fragments of life
One salter that the other

Throw me in a cage
And watch me bite at my tail;
A ravenous dog
ruined by the boredom of captivity
Tick tock
Another droplet
Another sliver of life
It falls into the puddle
Back into the void.
Self harm triggered by boredom.
jade May 4
she couldn't stop.
it was addicting,
seeing the blood flow from her wrists.

she loved the pain,
although she didnt know why.

he broke her heart,
but she liked the way it felt.

she was addicted,
addicted to pain.
thank you for reading<3
emma May 3
you were in my dreams tonight

when i looked down
so were they
A single tear,
a million cries,
a million fears,
produces a single sigh,
one cut,
leads to a million stitches.
Reopening old wounds.
You’ll never know what’s going on inside my brain
I’m not that girl anymore
Who writes poems from the inside to match new scars on the outside
And you’re lucky
You’ll never wake up to a new post about my ****-ups
Or get a call begging you to stop them from happening
I’m not that girl anymore
I wasted that on the wrong person
I gave up
And you’re lucky
April 19, 2021
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