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Hannah Feb 2018
i used to be scared of the dark
now im just scared
of being too comfortable in it
SeaChel Feb 2018
even the things I love most

cannot give me the will

to pick myself up







and that is okay.
Marissa Feb 2018
Silence fills the space,
Along with silent screams that can't be replaced.

Hands grab and pull at Innocence,
Tugging and ripping it apart.

Huddled in a barricaded area,
Innocence sits.

Waiting...
And waiting.
touka Jan 2018
struck me like sweet incense
of some storm of stardust
and by my doing, of old copper coins
the blood collected in his throat
the steely scent on his breath as it warped his voice
sent cold shrapnel through my tendons
I slipped and sank into the noise

I might miss having my heel stepped on
achilles exposed for far too long
sans the snake to snap at it
sans the sickle to scythe its hit
sans orpheus to ink an ode
sing it until his breathing slows

sing until his breathing slows
*tw* the flesh behind flayed pale skin, sprouting and spindling red, through and through, like sarcodes were made of him
SeaChel Jan 2018
These bruises and scars on my skin
help me remember,

"Yes,


I am still alive."
Blake Jan 2018
I have these little white lines

They're on my thighs

They tell the stories

Of the times I sat in my bathroom and cried

Of the times I felt truly alone

Of the times that I was told that I'm not loved

They bled

And they stung

But I still did it

Time and time again

Like it was nothing

I was told to stop

Or they would lock me up

So I stopped letting people find out

No one knew

I was so good at hiding it

Until one day

Someone hit my thigh and everyone found out

They were so upset

I stopped

And now all  I have are lines

To remind me

That at one point

I wanted to hurt myself

Truth is

That sometimes, I still want to
Angela Rose Jan 2018
L is for the way I lose my breath
O is for the only one I am allowed to see
V is very very extra over protective
E is even more reclusive than I have ever been before

And love is all that I have given to you
Love is just a sadistic game to you
We are not in love, we fake it
You've taken my heart and done more than just break it
Cause this "love" was not made for me and you
This is a straight on poetic twist on the song "L.O.V.E" by the late Nat King.
Terra Marie Jan 2018
Night.

In my mind, night symbolizes bad things
Dead as night,
Things go bump in the night,
Missing each other like ships in the night,
Thieves in the night,
“A one-night stand?”
Lady of the night,
“Oh my God! How can you sleep at night?”

It is universally known that monsters come out at night
They lurk in the closets of kids everywhere
But closet monsters with their reaching claws, twelve eyes, four arms,
And purple fur aren’t as scary as you.
In the dark corner of my room by the lamp that was my mom’s
When she was growing up
Did you put your hands on her, too?

I look up and
Coming towards me
a gangrene riddled zombie
Arms outstretched, a child whining for candy
Hot mouth on my skin, saliva in my face
Tongue like tentacles wrapping around me and
I fall into that dark, unfeeling place

Night is when bad things happen to good people
When too-young children lose their too-young innocence,
I try to explain to my mom the things you did
Why I’m chasing light
She says I’m lying because you’re her father
She knows you, and you wouldn’t do that to her
I tell her it was night-time she says,
“Maybe it was too dark to see who it was.”

“It wasn’t, mom!” I scream.
Hot pokers in the form of hot tears sear my red cheeks
When she turns away from me

It was dark, that night
But not so dark that I didn’t know you that night,
That night when you took me and crushed me
And I didn’t have a choice.

But it was you.

A gangrene zombie hiding in dark corners of my bedroom.
Poem for an abused friend of mine.  You can overcome anything, R.  You're amazing.
Wind Jan 2018
I drowned myself in a bottle of *****
so I could feel, or not to feel
There are eleven cigarette butts in the trash
so now my room reeks like smoke
It's still better than the smell of blood
Though my brother wasn't too happy
that I stole all his liquor,
he still thinks that the stains in my sheets
are better than the deep red ever was
Even if they're *****
I'm not sure if I agree
S P Lowe Jan 2018
bruises don’t often
appear on the surface.
strip away
her face,
her skull,
to reveal the battered,
rotting
brain of a girl
warped
into believing
abuse
is a normal aspect of life,
like pouring milk
into a bowl of cereal
for breakfast.
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