if you can hear me whisper, why cant you hear me yell
is the tone of my voice disrespectful
its not trying to be
its just a voice running for its life
my apologies for its rudeness while it pants for breath
i cut today and didn’t tell a soul
didn’t cry for help
not because no one cares
i know they do
alot of people care and they almost care too much
the reason ive gone quiet is because i dont care
im tired and feel like i don’t have an effect on anything
like my life is running its course without any input from me
my stomach didn’t like the food i tried to put into it
so it took me out of dance
i’m memorizing terms for a major i already fucked up my chances of getting into
i cant sleep when i want to
and cant stay awake when i want to
i want to make a difference yet i don’t
i go silent
cant help those who need me
im trapped in a stupid tiny arrogant little box and cutting was my way of trying to get out
it didn’t work, i didn’t cut far enough
but i can now see the marks on the box
marks that i made
at least i see i have some influence
even if its just the ability to make my stupid tiny arrogant box shabbier.
The burning liquor slides down the back of her throat
as euphoria sweeps over her like an antidote
for the despair within her very soul -
and now she’s no longer in control.
She doesn’t drink because she likes the taste
but to forget every single trauma she has faced.
She has a secret all locked inside but everyone thinks she's got nothing to hide.
Up in that room locked away are the secrets she keeps every night and day.
She cried in secret so no one would know the pain and the shame she felt on the daily,
and trying to see herself clearly,
trapped is her soul in the confines of her mind.
Her heart is busted, broken its almost a crime.
She wants to tell you how she feels but instead keeps it hidden inside for fear of rejection.
The pain is intense creeping up and down.
She has not a friend in the world except her cold metal friend,
who listens to the pain and releases her for a moment in time but after that the pain is worse then before.
They say its a
"no strings attached"
relationship but she always misses her cold metal friend.
She wants the feeling to last forever so she takes a leap and flies.
The girl is no more, gone with her secrets and forever misunderstood,
was the smile she wore with tears in her eyes.
The urge has come back to give into the attack
But if you do then you will die
or be fighting to stay alive.
I don't want to giv in and let my feelings win,
but if I go back, then it wins, my heart and soul,
are going to be dead.
My light has burned out and the fire left me with some scars;
Broken and torn stuck behind a prisoners doors.
But I am innocent of all crime except unto myself guilt comsumes me.
Because If I go back then my heart stos beating.
The blood overflows, my viens are cut, ripped, DAMN IT I MESSED UP!
So now I cry as I get burned alive,
and by the crimson river on my arm,
it flows until it dies.
Until me, myself, and I die.
In one summer, I've become an alcoholic. I've become a reckless shadow of myself.
In one summer I caused the love of my life to distrust me. I showed him my weaknesses and he refused to forgive.
In one summer, I've proven to myself that I'm not strong enough to live. The once terrifying vision of a starile hospital ward seems welcoming now.
In one summer I've managed to convince myself I have nothing left.
"what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
Is that what you say?
When I was lying in bed, covered in my own blood, choking on my despair. When it hurt too much to speak or eat because there was no skin left on my lips. When they were so messed up at school the next day that I had to lie to my friends, that I had to lie about the scars that I'd caused, the scars that I would tear off when I was upset, only to be replaced by deeper ones.
Does that sound strong to you?
When my arguments at home were so bad that my mother thought I hated her, that when I tried to apologise I broke down for fear of messing up and making things worse. When my father stormed into my room, finding me in tears and hyperventilating yet still screamed at me for making my mother cry. When I passed out, waking in my mothers arms on my bedroom floor with my sister and my father having a screaming match. When everyone was crying but me because I was so far past crying that I couldn't move.
So you think that was strong?
When my best-friend turned against me, jealous that I had known our shared friends longer, claiming that I hit and bullied her, that I abused and threatened her, leaving me friendless and alone in a class of people that I'd never thought to become closer to. When I was called to see the head teacher, confused and eager to look after someone I called my best-friend, but was accused of smashing her head against a brick wall and dragging her across the floor and I was too stunned to defend myself, and ended up having multiple panic attacks, and sat there blubbering like a fool, thinking that I was going to be expelled over my best-friend's lies.
Do you think I felt strong?
So next time you hear someone say,
"oh, well, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"
to shut the hell up.
Every time I pick up a pen, I think failure.
I think addicted to a blade
shackled to a bottle
captivated by little pills that hold my sanity in their capsules
But today I want to write strength.
I want to write beautiful.
I want to write go ahead and try me again
God made me more than a conqueror.
Because if dependence upon a blade makes me weak
I wonder how I ever had the strength
to get up off my knees
at the age of five
when all I wanted to do was lay down and die
I'm writing courage because even though
he defiled my body
I'm sick of writing how much I hate what I've become
sick of blaming myself for the abominations
that you and I performed
was it me
or was it you?
Did I poison your youth, too?
Did I carve regret into your skin
when you were just a little kid?
Regardless, today I carve perfection
because that's what shows in my reflection
I'll trade you shoes
but won't trade scars
because most are written on my heart
and not for one second do you deserve to have
what brought me through this pain
I hope the piece you stole from me dances on your grave.
Meanwhile, I'll be writing back my hope
that had slowly slipped away
It must have been those bottles that ruined me, right?
Not those visits I received so many times during the night?
But if finding escape through a drink makes me distorted
I wonder how I ever managed to turn
perverted kisses into defiance
and taboo touches into faith
that one day, not me, but God
would condemn you to your fate.
I'm writing forgive so I can look at you
and know that I'm the better man.
I'm writing confidence so the next one of you that comes along
will be meeting my backhand.
- Graves -
Let me think...
Should I write this with a bottle?
Should I write this with a pen?
Should I write this out in teardrops?
Carve the words into my skin?
I do it best when I am hiding.
Do it best when I'm alone.
I do it best when no one's watching me
when no one else is home.
Can you see me in the corner?
Can you see me on the floor?
Can you see me in the shadows?
See me crawling through the door?
It's okay that you're not listening.
It's okay that you don't care.
It's okay that you don't remember me
that you were never really there.
- Graves -
Oh, darling, don't you see?
You don't want to be like me.
Go back to your dolls, baby girl,
you'll understand eventually.
You saw me doing what?
No, sweetie, I've just got something in my eye.
I'm not crying.
I'm not lying.
I'm not popping pills like bubble gum.
I'm not drinking 'til my mind goes numb.
You shouldn't hang on the words I say.
Sometimes they are lies.
I don't like how you're always watching me.
I can't escape your eyes.
These scars? Honey, you know me.
I've always been a little wild.
Please, don't copy the things I do.
I'm only still a child!
Dearest, yes, I love you!
Don't you understand?
Can't you see?
It's too dangerous for you to be like me.
- Graves -