she plucks, she plucks at her hair,
strand by strand, a fragile theft-
a slow unraveling,
a soft dismembering of self.
each root sings a dirge,
a tiny funeral for what she cannot keep.

She cuts, she cuts, into her wrist,
a meticulous surgeon of her own undoing.
the blade hums red hymns,
and the skin parts like filling pages,
secrets written in her blood,
whispering scarlet truths no one bothers to read.

her soul, a cathedral gutted by fire,
its hollow ribs aching for hymns,
the sanctuary she never entered.
she craves her momma's love
like a starving fox craves the moon-
sharp-toothed, bitter, unreachable.

she cries, she cries,
a monsoon of broken rivers.
the sobs scissor the air,
chopping breaths into pieces
too small to sew,
too jagged to swallow.
she drowns in her own storm,
pulling at the loose threads
of forgiveness,
at the ghost of closure
that slips from her grasp,
vanishing into the darkness.

chopped breaths,
chopped hope,
chopped forgiveness,
chopped closure.

Apathy is a killer of children;
Oh great poisonous snake
Don’t you have any compassion?
Apathy is a killer of children;
Anna, Steve, Sebastian,
Will you make it to the kingdom?
Selfish preservation persists
From the inside of each one of your lips
But was it the times that did this?

Or was it the trauma of your siblings both getting arrested
And when your dad started calling your mom a *****?
Or was it the fact that your dad runs the ******* off Kirk
And you spend your days there watching women strip?
Or was it the fact that your older brother dealt drugs
And it was easy enough to get him to give you some,
And now it’s common practice to smoke **** at your house,
And when you feel numb you let yourself bleed out?
Or was that your parents never parented you
And they let you do whatever you wanted to do,
So at eight R-rated movies were nothing that new
And you watched ****** and ****** like daily cartoons.
And where were your parents when this happened to your hearts?
Oh right, they were screaming and yelling till you fell apart
And then doing the same things that they bruised you for
And then eventually not caring if you did them some more!

Was it your parents?
Was it their parents?
Was it this cycle?
Who can bear it?
Who can we blame?
Who will make the claim?
Who can you place all our burdens on and then walk away?
I can’t bear the weight
I can’t bear the weight
I can’t bear the weight
I can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight
We can’t bear the weight!

And who’s going to stop and care about Sophie,
Not unstable enough to try to **** herself
But she’s feeling confused and she’s  feeling lowly
And she hopes she can have better mental health,
But the hospital will only make sure she’s calmed down
And her mom and her grandma won’t help her figure it out
And she’s been hurt from therapy and is afraid to go back
To a stranger who’s just there for a paycheck and that’s that!
Who’s hands will stay and hold all her blood
When it trickles down her arms from all her poorly hidden cuts!
Who has her blood on her hands, who is to blame
When her mom kicks down the door and screams her name:

“Sophie I’m sorry!”

Name the killer of children,
Can you name the killer of children?
Is there anyone specific
Who taught them to do this?
Name the killer of children.
Can you name the killer of children?
Was it their parents?
Was it this cycle?
Was it this world?
Was it their idols?
Name the killer of children.
Can you name the killer of children?
If anyone causes these little ones to stumble
Let them be tied to a millstone, drowning deep in open waters!
Can you name the killer of children?
Or do you have at least a spot to bury them in?

I’ve been trying for years to stop,
but,
it’s like a safety cushion that just ends up hurting you more.
Like I honestly get so mad when people tell me to “just stop.”
But it’s an addiction.
Once you start it’s so hard to stop and even if your years clean of something,
you can still relapse.
That’s the worst part.
I’ve always done it even subconsciously since I was in single digits,
so now it’s just sadly second nature.
It’s hard to stop something that you’ve always done just in different ways.
It’s not like I wanted to start,
I just needed to feel
or I thought I needed to be “punished” for nothing that was my fault.
But I ended up finding a quick fix that’s gonna leave me scared for the rest of my life.
I’ve tried everything to distract myself and make me stop.
Longest I’ve gone was 6 months,
I was 14.
I just moved on from hitting myself to things that cause more damage yk.
It’s the stinging that brings me back to reality and in a moment,
just a moment,
my mind stops running and my brain is calm.
Just a moment of silence that always comes back.
It’s not good but I just can’t stop.
But I think I’ll get better and heal.
Even if it’s not tomorrow or next month.
Eventually I’ll get better and won’t need it anymore. Hopefully.
It’s a hope I wish so desperately to come true.
One day tho, whether it’s in this life or another,
I won’t need it.

Trauma wasn’t just a word for someone like me
Like vines with thorns, the memories cut me, wrapping me in utter vulnerability
People say I've had a good life and I have it better than the boy who was hit last week
But what about the girl I used to be, hiding with the monsters because humans scared me
The word trauma is what people use when something is uncovered or discovered
But over time it loses meaning, becoming stale like left out bread
Because people who throw the word around think people who hide from the vines are actually fine
When we are running from not only the demons in our minds but the light of reality
Suffocating with bad habits to keep the memories locked and not for a rainy day
But so we can finally get a moment of peace in this ****** up masterpiece-
That we call reality
I wish I could go back to when instead of thorns there was rose buds growing with me
But they were cut and protective lies surrounded the oh so fragile identity
My mind a graveyard of what it could've been if not for unfortunate events following me
The lies are spilled not just because I'm scared but it's hard to open up when all I've done is lock away any truths that could lay me bare
Like a scab I pick at the wound, the feeling unnerving and almost deserving, like a silver shine pressing another line, ending in a numbing relief
Pain distracts from the others that are greater, because how the hell do I breathe with no oxygen
Crimson brings me back, the sting is the oxygen I crave, guilt and shame will take a minute to scream.
Oh I just wanted to be free.

[CW - sh]

The first time,

Just needed them to notice

That I wasn’t fine

I was feeling hopeless

Didn’t really know what I was doing,

But I did it





Back then, I was fine with breathing

There was nothing wrong, wrong with eating

I didn’t really care for feeling,

But I was fine with the fact  

That my heart kept beating





The next time, the thoughts.

Too loud, drown them out

With the pain, with the hurt

A new cut, an alert

That once again, I needed help.





That time, still fine with breathing

However, had some struggles with eating

Wished I could just ignore my feelings

But I still found nothing wrong with

My heart still beat- beating



The third time, the worst time,

Chain reactions to and from

Watch as a big problem becomes

So. Much. Worse.





By then, I was aware of breathing

Had too many problems with eating

I hated all the things I was feeling

And I always had the knowledge

That my heart kept beating





The fourth time

Scar still lingers,

More annoying than stressful

First relapse in five months  





Five, six and seven,

Not a big deal, not deep

Faded away through sleep

But I was struggling.

There’s worse to come.









Then eight, nine, ten.

Worst times of my life

Friendships falling apart.

Thoughts ripping me apart

I was dying inside.

I almost died.





And at that point?

Oh, I wished my lungs would stop breathing

And wow, I was barely eating

Wished I could stop feeling

And almost stopped my heart from beating.





I’m doing better now, it’s true

Still fall sometimes, but still

I get back up, I keep going

Never alone anymore, maybe I never was

For for the first time, in a long time,

I’m glad my heart is beating.

I carved holes into my skin, to my bones,
just so a glimpse of light gets into my soul.

Cut one
For every word
That went undone

Cut two
For everything
Done by you

Cut three
For all the things
You pretend not to see

Cut four
For when I
Walked out your door

Cut five
For every night
I slept with wet eyes

Cut six
For all of your lies
And all of your tricks

Cut seven
For every childhood wish
To go to heaven

Cut eight
For everything that you
Blamed on a personality trait

Cut nine
For everytime that
I said "I'm fine"

Cut ten
For evertime i was told
That I'd be safe
Tell me when

Cut eleven
For wishing
That I could die at seven

Cut twelve
For every truth that I told
Left and forgotten on a shelve

Cut thirteen
For wishing that I could
Shower on my own and be clean

Cut fourteen
For wishing that I could
Lay down on the grass all green

Cut fifteen
For every single
Forgotten dream

Cut sixteen
For all the
Broken seams

Cut eighteen
For all the times
I was stuck between

Cut nineteen
For all the happy endings
Full of lies on screen

Cut twenty
For everytime
You touched my body

Cover me
In your love
And put your hands on my body
With your lust

I cover me
In cuts
And put the blade
To every inch of skin

You let
HIM
Near the house
With no guilt
Or regard to me

So I remove his hands
From my body
With a blade
And no guilt
Or regard to you

You watch
My every move
When I leave the room

I listen to
Your every word
When on the phone with
HIM

You talk
Of letting him back
Into the house
Where safety never was

So I sink
Into this bed
Where safety left
When I was touched