self-harming your body
is not going
to end
the
pain

Then out of nowhere and at once, the voice stopped.
No lingering feeling of self hate
The questions
The pondering
It all came to a halt
A thing that’s been with me all these years
Came to an abrupt end
Not bitter
Not sweet
Just end
An ending i’ve been hoping, but not waiting on
I didn’t know that there was such a thing
As an end to it

A blabbering, mumbling sorrow of self pity
Or just a mere convenience of a lexicon with words to degrade myself
A daily reminder of how worthless I was
So I would’ve never forgotten my reason
A reason never explained
Never cared for
With a reach of a sovereign hand I touch the notes
Floundering through the air
Playing a floating piano
“A river flows in you”
Caring for unprotected skin

I was waiting for a different ending
An abrupt ending, not like this one
Fingernails not bitten off bleeding
A curious feeling of relentlessness
Not used to the feeling of not being alone

It all came to a halt
A voice that’s been with me for years
A sadness of emptiness is nowhere to be found
A clue to a healthy mind
Maybe a fear of what could’ve been if not the voice left
A sort of trembling worry of who to now complain when I do wrong
An understatement of falling leaves from my tree

I know my family will be glad
Even though I haven’t ever told them bout the pain I contain
Who to be worthy shall never pass
Through my gates of hell
No one is worthy of that pain
Maybe not even me?

I think this was and end worth waiting for

i want to peel the skin from my limbs
strip by strip
with broken glass making jagged incisions
then watch the blood drip
down my body
dark red is pretty.

i want to scratch my eyes out
i've seen too much now
they'd look better splattered on the floor
just like *****, blotched decor

i want to pluck my nails out from the beds of my fingers and toes
and with a torch burn it all, melt the cartilage off my ears and nose
its too much extra baggage
for when i jump off the ledge
i like to mutilate myself
i’m a ******* as well

i love slicing deep into my skin
or puncturing myself, with a needle or pin.
seeing my blood escape captivity
makes me feel more alive than if it was still inside me
even more so when i carve out an artery
it falls so gracefully down to my feet

i want to display my own bones in my home
and replace them in my body with metal poles
i think feeling pain is better than feeling nothing
and seeing a sharp razor to grate my skin is always enticing
i love how it stings.

blood is the liquid of life yet symbolizes death
i corrupted my soul, now an expired body is left
i want to reach inside my chest
and grab my heart
and squeeze so hard
it oozes like jello through my fingers
and stops beating forever.

This man is dying on his bed
Empty bottle in his hand
Suffocating from the drugs
And liquor he took
He falls as he struggles to stand
He's laboured so hard
But all his earnings —
Down the drain
Did the blood storm his brain?
Does he feel himself going insane?
Has the coke left his veins?
As he slams back down to the floor
He makes no other movements
And no other sounds
Now when someone enters
They'll know he died a clown

i cut and i cut and i cut and i cut and yet
Still, it is there. One
post-it-note in permanent marker,
a diary entry written in pen.
Woman, it says.
Woman.

The day I killed myself,
I tried to brush it of and pretend I'm okay,
Tried to hurt myself every single day.

The day I killed myself,
My mum cried forever,
My dad brushed it of like he's not the one to blame.

The day I killed myself,
I woke up and went about the day,
Like nothing ever happened because it never does.

The day I killed myself,
I fell in love with the cat,
And pretended things weren't so bad.

The day I killed myself,
I woke up in hospital,
Everything attached to me.

The day I killed myself,
I watched the sun fall,
And said to myself here comes another day.

The day I killed myself,
I had another drink,
To numb everything away.

The day I killed myself,
My dad kicked us out,
Became homeless again.

The day I killed myself,
You hurt me so bad I couldn't breathe,
Then you told me to leave.

The day I killed myself,
I watched the stars,
How bright and beautiful they are.

The day I killed myself,
I unkilled myself.

Oh, dear girl
How beautiful you are
How kind and colorful
I see your pain
I see the gashes underneath your clothes
The angry lines on your precious flesh
You burn your pain
Away into smoke
Crimson eyes
Not just from the tears
But from the blunt between your fingers
How I wish
To take your hurt
So you don’t grow up with faint white crosses
On your pretty limbs
You deserve to have your lovely smile
Displayed for all to see

Here I am sitting on my bedroom floor with a razor in my hand wondering if 155 days sober is enough to deter me from cutting again.

I have been so proud of myself for all of those days,
even when I was at one week and I didn’t think it was enough,
and even when I wanted to hurt myself so bad that I thought I might throw up.

I don’t want those days to have been for nothing,
but I can’t help but think of that time last summer when I was in a constant state of anxiety for 7 days straight during which I tried every trick to calm myself down,
and nothing worked, so I resorted to self harm.

Now my stress and anxiety have been building up for about a month,
and I am so exhausted that I actually did throw up,
and I can’t get up in the morning because I am so paralyzed by all my thoughts,
and I start thinking to myself
“What could be so bad about one little cut?”

The bow cuts sharply across taut strings
A crescendo rings out
Loud and hot
Playing across flesh and bone
All alone
A bow of metal
The strings breathe
Spilling out song
Run down
Like blood running from shoulder to wrist
Warm and inviting
Not scary any longer

But to all who don't know a disturbing melody
A tabboo
Not acceptable
Maybe
Maybe not
Like an ill placed violin