Your kiss sparks a fire,
the gun powder in me flares,
triggering fire works.

so if they come looking for my body
don't tell them where i hid it
and if they ask where i was last seen
don't tell them it was by the river
and if they ask what happened
tell them that it never even mattered

i still remember the day where you asked me to please not **** myself
we were sitting on that couch you no longer have now
and just so you know,
those words meant everything to me and so much more

I thought my words
could change your mind,
And I hoped the end
you wouldn't find,
I hoped you'd be able to
put down your gun,

And so I punched myself
in the gut
a couple hundred times,
to block the backdoor
to your finish line,
to stitch every scattered piece
together in time,
but I couldn't quite fill the gap
of a lie in your "I'm fine"
We're so very far from fine.

Now do me a favour,
and quit the suspense,
Do me a favour,
listen to me when I say:
the night is black but
look hard enough
you'll see the sky is grey;
you're not meant to go away,
You've so many reasons to stay.

My voice is tired of repeating itself
over and over again,
monologues are only meant to stay
inside one's head,
and I'm too terrified
to stay another night,
all I can say is "hold on tight,"
all I can say is "hold on tight."

CUTTING THE TIES THAT BIND
So I cut myself with a knife
just to see if I can still feel anything in this pathetic life
But I feel nothing at all
as I watch my crimson blood fall
I score my skin, deeper and deeper, push the knife in
nothing..... not even a sting...absolutely nothing
I frantically seek a virginal place I can carve, cut away my hate
self loathing, disgust, as I look at myself, what a ******* state
Waiting to faint, as my blood seeps and escapes
but as if mocking me, I have to wait
relief comes at a price, a deadly cost
and reminds me of all that i've lost
tired and sleepy, waiting for death to collect me
I've planned for no one to save me, finally be free
one last slice, just to ensure
deep across artery, my blood pumps no more

My Journey Through Madness
#illness   #self-harm   #selfharm   #mentalhealth

it has been one year since my ****.
it has been one year since my ****.
it has been one year since my ****.

every day and every day after gets worse.
every day and every day I see more and more how I was not wrong.
every day and every day I see more and more how I was.

it has been one year since my ****.
it has been one year since my ****.

sometimes I see boys on the street.
sometimes my eyes linger on their faces, their lips
sometimes I picture their faces, their lips on mine
sometimes I forget that I shrink away at a man's glance
sometimes I forget that I shrink away at a man's touch

it has been one year since my ****.
It has been one year since my ****.

my friends and my darlings scream out at injustice
they scream at a man who did what another man did to me
they say he didn't serve enough jail time
my friends and my darlings don't know that the man who touched me served no jail time
my friends and my darlings do not know that he walks free
free to live, free to harm, free to not be haunted
by the things he did to me

it has been one year since my ****.
it has been one year since my ****.

at moments I want to scream it from the rooftops
at moments I want to carve it into my flesh
at moments I want everyone,  everyone to know how I was hurt and left bleeding, (figuratively and literally) and naked (literally and figuratively) in a cold basement of a boy I did not know
at moments I want to say
'I WAS HURT (figuratively and literally) AND I AM IN PAIN (literally and figuratively) AND I DO NOT KNOW HOW TO HEAL'
these moments pass

it has been one year since my ****.
it has been one year since my ****.

every day and every day it gets better.
every day and every day it gets worse.
every day and every day I drag my hurt behind me like an anvil on a string
every day and every day and every day after that.

it has been one year since my ****.
it has been one year since my ****.

Dionysus,
god of wine,
presses glasses of whiskey to your lips, tells you
he’s here, he’s here, and
shivers shoot down your spine.

You crack your knuckles under the table--
expand the space between your bones,
you want to punch him-- yet
his hands still find their way to the soft, supple skin of your knee,
press, knead,  and you want to slither away like a snake, turn into the
perspiration that dribbles down his neck, but
his eyes glimmer in the darkness and maybe
you just want him to purple you,
ferment layers of muscles you never wanted in the first place,
bite your lip, smile like lightning,
dig fingernails into emptied hair follicles, and
he squeezes your thigh so hard you’re worried
you’ll break in half.

**** it,
your narrow beams of ribcage only bounce under
shattered glass, he’s here,
he’s hurting you and you’re bleeding and blood is
erupting
out of your throat choking you choking him everything is
red, purple; purple me, you’re saying.

"you've acquired new scars,
birthed since the last time,
i saw you so bare."

   he buries his arousing discovery
into my patchwork skin
kissing each neat slit like they make him want me more
   like the ground within his bones begin to rattle, losing control
forcing him to rip open the barely healed seams and watch my blood pour
his gaunt eyes seeping with lust

"i love you, my girl,
regardless of the controversy you create."
  
  though we know it isn't regardless of,
it's because of
which is why, in 6 months to this date,
when it's time to want me again
exposing me to the slaughterhouse beauty pageant we become
he will discover further harm,
wounds dedicated to his fleeting lust