red is the blood that pours down his arms
red is the flush on her cheeks
red is the flower that they wear on their charms
red stains my carpet for weeks

wine and women
power hungry; driven
red controls life.

red is the heart
hurting the boy
pumping too hard and fast

red is the truck
that took them away
the world speeding past

red is hungry
red is power
red is strong.

Once I was A poem; lines of love and hope
Now I'm just forgotten  art;
I can't remember when my wrists turned into paintings with line cuts and scars
looking less and less like wrists and more like a canvas
But my scars aren't art and neither am I;
I cut and cut and cut and cut until my arms are crosses and jagged lines
This life is not for me

I am paper : I'm meant to be cut
I am just a match; I'm meant to be burnt
I am just a balloon; my Heart is meant to be popped

And I wish I could fix this
I wish I was okay
I wish
I wish
I wish
But it doesn't matter
Because I don't
Stuck in a whirlpool of my own pain

this is because i am...
I am a artist
I am a poet
I am a cutter
I am a starver
I am a mess of scars
And broken pieces
But the problem is
I am me
When I look in the mirror
All I see is a mistake
A little mess
Of pain And starving
And the scars all along my body
A problem
A smudge on humanity
But that's who I am
I guess I have to accept that

Today, a years-long claim got denied — again.
I have been fighting the veterans affairs office
for too much of my life.
Sitting here at a job that brings me nothing, I silently weep
inside about the battle that I have to continue fighting.
At my work bench, surrounded by strangers to my struggles
I’m transported back to my first encounter
with the hellish reality of life in the Marines.
His cries for help rip me out of my bunk.
With his arms locked, under the boys armpits and across his chest,
he drags him out from the squad bay bathroom.
We’ve been in basic training only two weeks now.
Fresh out of high school,
our friends haven’t even left for college yet.
Blood sprays from his neck.
He’s laid on the ground, and my hands, like bandages,
are around him now trying to keep his life inside of him.
I never knew how hot freshly spilled blood was.
I close my eyes, and pray someone will come save him
and me.
I was only 18
and so was he.

                                        Hands, covered in life
                              It’s lost warmth — searing my skin
                                        Save me from this hell

(TW: Self-Harm and Suicidal Ideation)

I wish the night was more than a fleeting mirage
Coming one moment and leaving the next
I wish the darkness would surround me in its velvety cloth
Not the absence of light, but the absence of life
The darkness of total and permanent nothingness
I wish my capillaries, veins, and arteries would peal open
Slowly, agonisingly
I want to watch the final drop of crimson drain from my body
Creep slowly down my finger
Trancing the path already traced by his brothers
He will linger at the very tip of my nail
Before falling
Plummeting
Careening
Into the tiled floor
Only then will I shut my eyes
I will let darkness trail his supple fingers down my body
Encasing me in his eager embrace
He will wind himself around me until there is nothing left
But for a small white corpse upon a brilliantly painted floor
And no one will find me
Because no one will be left to care

He picks at the scabs he put on himself
The scabs that were caused by something shiny and small
I got it from art class. Isn't that crazy? I got something from art class to put permanent art on myself…. My own skin.
He makes empty promises and lies to his loved ones
“I'm clean!!”
“I promise it won't happen again”
“Its been 3 months since I cut!”
Lies. their all lies, empty promises
He watches the blood appear as the blade goes across his wrist
The wrist he once drew on with markers
the wrist that is now covered in scars..
now something you cant unfix

i cut up my leg today
thinking no one would see
thinking swim was over
thinking i was safe
but tomorrow
i’ll stand by the pool
water reflecting back at me
and i’ll wonder if they’ll notice
the way regret looks like red lines
against my skin

seeping through brown-riddled veins
flowing a gently fervent stream from
my wrist, a perfect red
dreams of an escape from all of this
turmoil and stress can be attained
through a single temptation from
the acquired gaze of a small blade

It isn’t fair anymore
You get the fun of wanting to be alive
You get the pleasure of living
You’re not trapped
Why do you get that right?
Why wasn’t I allowed that too?
Did I do something wrong?
I was just a baby
I want to do something to make it up
Something to show I deserve it just like you
It just isn’t fair anymore
You get that joy of not being stuck
I can’t see
It’s too dark
Explain to me how that’s fair
Why does everyone get that but me
The food passes by
But what’s the point
Why do I need to prove myself?
Show how much I need this
I don’t want anything
It’s a right
Not a privilege
Can I stay with you?
There’s enough room for me too
I’m tired
When I sleep it’s okay
But I can’t sleep all the time