When I'm left to myself
My wrists tingle
And I vividly see what it would like like
To scratch and scratch,
until blood flowed like a river
To pry my nails from my body,
with a squelching sound
To pull my teeth with pliers,
feeling the roots' empty place
To stab pencils into my thighs,
and leave them in the contracting muscles
To pour acid down my back,
and feel it burning and bubbling and the tissues peeling off
To scoop out my eyes,
and finally be blind to the world,
with crimson tears running down my face

Panting
the brush glides
so smoothly over
the light canvas

Yet the ink
doesn't absorb into the fibers
but spills from the art

You may look at my work
and be disgusted
horrified ever

you may not see what I see
you may look at these red lines
on this pale canvas
and not be controlled by its beauty

But I am
And this is all I can do from killing myself

The red parallels that lined my arms
Have now faded to white
You'd think they'd give me hope again
But I can barely stand this life

I miss the blood running down my skin
Staining my lifeless limbs
Bringing my distorted insides out
Those demons pouring from deep within.

Self mutilation
Tattooed invitation
Thoughts confused
A razors used
Skin engraved
Scars won't fade
Mind unwind
Blood divine

coming home from a long day of school, i am welcomed by my mother's kisses yet it's the blade's that touch my cheek
i feel the long glides of hello's and how are you's creep up my veins and sleeves
my heart pounds like a hummingbird, except this time there's no bird but a desperate cry clawing at the door
my throat catches itself as i skip lunch with an empty stomach. my tears will be all that's left to ingest and the dining room will be my bathroom floor
i collapse on my knees drenched in uniform sweat, punching the tiles and marble décor
why is it, that every time i strip i reach for sharp edges instead of shower curtains?
why do my hands try to break the buildings of restraint? why are they strong enough to reach for the blades?
and why am i considered weak if i resort to such violence?

i cannot remember the last time my thighs looked bare
each time i recall, i see a naked canvas stained with red and purple
my individual hairs dipped in fresh cuts and my head spinning around in circles
each time i try to forget the lunch i skipped and the conversations of unspoken words i never said,
the skull behind my forehead trembles with regret
and i’ll remember how my heart would pound like the wings of a hummingbird
flying back and forth, clawing and tearing my chest open as i reach for the door

my mom awaits me with kisses to welcome me home
but i’ll be too eager to collapse on the bathroom floor

n.j.

You asked me "What's wrong?"
I asked you to count with me
One
One day you just stopped coming around
Two
Two days have passed since my last meal and I'm still staring down the toilet hoping to empty whatever is left of me
Three
Three words repeated over and over I love you I love you I love you I love you
Four
4:00 a.m. showers letting the bathtub flow over hoping to drown the girl I hate because that's the girl I have become
Five
Five bottles down moving onto number
Six
Six daisies making a chain around my neck like a noose holding the measurement hoping that I'll at least be pretty when I die
Seven
Seven days every week I didn't want to get out of bed because how could I try and stand on solid ground when I'm sinking and everyone else around me is flying like
Eight smoke rings escaping my lips as I wish that maybe my last breath will float up with it
Nine
Nine hours I should be sleeping but instead I stare at that pill bottle did you know that
Ten out of Ten doctors will prescribe you with pills if you're even the slightest bit imbalanced in the brain
Nine
Nine years of prescriptions piling up ignored in fear of becoming a monster like the one they're trying to create
Eight
Eight cancer sticks at the bottom of my bag because addiction is addiction because it hurts the same
Seven
Seven minutes I count over and over did you know that's how long it takes to die by hanging I know because of
Six words you said
Five years ago "Why don't you just go **** yourself"
Four attempts in one month why can't I just die
Three
Three hours spent sobbing on the bathroom floor with
Two bullets in
One gun shot bang!
Zero
Zero chances left

My scars don't look like
Anyone else's-
They're more careful,
Organized, precise and
Exact.
Not light, but
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough
Never deep enough.

People always ask why
I do such pretty patterns:
Because this is the only thing in life
That I can really control
Control
Control,

And I find it so beautiful-
Though, not so much tragic.

My scars are not chaotic like a
Car-wreck,
They are consistent like a
Coma-
Proof that I was awake
The whole time I was sleeping,
And I could feel everything
Even though I could tell no one.
No one.

That this
Unconscious obsessive compulsion
Demands order
Order
Order, it
Insists by instinct,
An intricate simplicity.

Still, I will 'ever envy
Those stitched gashes, once
Gushing
Gushing
Gushing with surrender and
Serenity...
Each raised and rough coarse collagen fiber
To form a white flag
Forever etched in flesh;
To tell the world
They, were a slave to freedom-

I am only a slave
To *myself.

White, my hands of ice
Warmed by the chilled blade upon my palm.
A touch of red
Blurs pink.
No light,
Just white, and fade
The frozen air begins to warm
as the water drips from my soul
onto the bedroom floor.