Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
I want it to stop.
not anything in particular,
as if one thing could fill me, or fix me
or glue all the cracks that are leaking me out

I want it to stop.
just everything
everything that's inside me

I feel like a void
empty and full of longing,
and a suffocating panic, knowing it will never stop
that I will never be filled and i will stay like this.
until I'm not like this.
because I am not.

so i think about being not
more than being,
and somehow that seems better
and easier, and hopeful

If only some of those comforts,
in words and arms and love,
spoken over me in memoriam
could find their way to me
while they could still find me

perhaps they wouldn't need
to be said at all
I'm sitting here with a razor blade  
that says she's my best friend,  
and her voice is so smooth  
I almost believe her,  
wouldn't you if you were me?  
  
The night always seems to call  
roulette and razor blades into my veins,  
when thoughts of you are knotted in my stomach,  
sour coils of flesh  
that drudge up the darkest thoughts.  
Words that stain the air  
and turn to rust on my lips.  
  
I thought I had finally cast out this craving,  
the hunger running under skin.  
I can see it when I close my eyes,  
the river wrapped around my arm  
trickling down to death.  
  
And the devil on my shoulder  
whispers sweet nothings  
through bloodthirsty lips.  
  
The morbid thoughts shed skin  
and become the virtuous  
in the cover of dark.  
When the mind crosses over  
and wanders into the realms that daylight forbids,  
or daylight forgot.  
  
I'm sitting here with a razor blade  
that says she's my best friend,  
and her voice is so smooth  
I almost believe her.  
She says that she can make it quick.  
Press it down, blade to bone.  
It won't last long enough to trouble anyone  
and neither will I.
Nobody Jun 2
i draw with silver
lines, x's and spots
under a sleeve
so i never get caught

my canvas is my skin
and so with the blade i drag
across my peach paper
so they won't be mad

i'm sorry, mom
i'm sorry, dad
i'll never be the son you wanted to have
perfect grades,
happy and smart

i'm so sorry...
i'm sorry i have to tear us apart
maxx May 31
my brain
won’t shut up.

every second
is another scream
i’m supposed to ignore.

it tells me
to hurt myself.
to disappear.
to stop pretending.

& honestly,
i’m tired
of pretending.

they say
“you have so much
to be happy about”
as if that erases
the weight
on my chest.

as if healing
is linear.
as if trauma
can’t sneak in
once the storm
has passed.

i really thought
i was better.

i was wrong.

& now i’m just
waiting
for the silence
to come back—
even if it means
i won’t.
sometimes i wonder why i ever thought it would get better
Kaiden May 29
In a box, in the last drawer,
A blade lies.
Feeding off the quiet cries,
Not quitting, even though it tries.

Having an idiot to please,
Because SOMEONE is upset,
Cutting off the bad emotions,
Hatred, longing and regret.
So like... This one feels extremely unfinished BUT I WAS LIKE 12/13 WHEN I WROTE THIS... and i guess it's the pov of the blade once you use it
Kaiden May 29
A minute, a day
Takes another life away.
Showing the truth
Through obvious lies,
A poem is written,
The writer dies.
Im the writer btw

(another draft, this time from december)
ChrisV May 29
The river seems calm tonight,
From up here.
Or do the waves lap roughly,
Like high winds.
Navy looks pretty
Under gunmetal grey.
And the sea foam bridge cuts
Through misty skies.
Traffic noise from the city
Drowns the mind.
Thoughts may enlighten,
But may poison, too.
Dive to see wings spread out wide,
Flying low.
But featherless arms will not blunt
The impact.
ChrisV May 29
You should die.
Not for our difference of opinion,
But because you’d condemn children
To homelessness,
Hunger and malnutrition,
If it gave you
A tax break.

You should die.
Not for a difference of values,
But because realizing them would mean
Women’s lives would end,
Silently
By hanger
Or razor.

You should die.
Not because you pray differently
Or pray at all,
But because your faith tells you
That others should believe the same
By force,
Fire,
Or famine.

You should die.
Not because you work hard
Or have much,
But because you think those who don't
Are beneath you
And can expect
Nothing
More.

You should die.
Not because of your fear,
But because it rips babies
From mothers' arms
And cages fathers
In El Salvador.

You should die,
Instead of I,
Because I protect life,
While all you believe
Ends it.

You should die.
Everly Rush May 27
I stopped naming days a while ago—
they blur like raindrops on a cracked lens.
Everything feels like an echo
of a moment that never begins.

I’m not living — I’m leftover.
A half-thought someone left behind.
Just a whisper under locked doors,
a glitch they pretend not to find.

My mirror forgets my face now.
It fogs up, refuses to see.
I trace a smile in the steam,
then wipe it off carefully.

My body’s a punishment I wake up in,
every curve a curse, every breath a dare.
They say “You’ll grow into yourself,”
but I’m scared of what’s even there.

My bedroom light flickers like it pities me.
I don’t turn it off—it feels like a friend.
Sometimes I stare at the ceiling
and wonder when all this will end.

School is a stage I perform at.
My backpack holds more secrets than books.
Teachers read me like I’m blank paper,
like I’m nothing more than looks.

I speak less every week.
Even the silence feels bored of me.
I try to write myself into poems,
but the paper just stares blankly.

I write suicide notes in my head
like lullabies when I can’t sleep.
I imagine a world without me
and it doesn’t even weep.  

No one knocks on my door anymore.
They say I’m “just going through a phase.”
But I’m not going anywhere—
just sinking in quieter ways.

I think the stars forgot my name.
I don’t even wish on them now.
What’s the point in asking for light
when you’ve never been shown how?

I keep my razor in a pencil case—
It makes more sense that way.
At least it writes something real
when my words won’t stay.

Tell me—what’s worse:
To scream and be silenced,
or to whisper your last goodbye
and still be unseen in the silence?

I don’t want a grave or flowers.
Just maybe a song without my name.
Let me go like a breath you didn’t mean—
quick, quiet, forgotten.
No blame.
23:58pm / I should be sleeping but I can’t sleep.
Next page