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Sara Jones May 2015
And in that moment

Of tainted bliss

All I wanted

Was a blade

Across my wrist
Page 4 of Trouble: Pages of a Teenage Mind
Aerial McAdams May 2015
there's nothing romantic about
stinging, shaking legs
and a still silence
surrounding lovers that creates
screams in their heads --
where did i go wrong
i'm such an idiot
there's nothing beautiful
about blood and self-loathing,
insecurities and guilt.
there's no turning around.
there's only moving forward.
and maybe they'll both be different,
but they'll probably stay the same.
and there's nothing --
nothing --
pretty about that.
Sara Jones May 2015
I know that the whole thing about love is it's who you miss at 2pm when you're busy, not 2am when you're lonely.
Baby it's 8:50pm and I'm as lonely as I've ever been.

I can't stand my friends when they're with their other, my love life is lived through them.
Its not that I want what they have,
Its that I want to feel warm arms around my body instead of the cold embrace of my AC.

It's that I want someone to run shivers down my back by placing their cold hands on my bare side and allow my body heat to warm them.
Its that I want to feel a deep passionate love.

Its that all it ever is is me and me alone.

Is that what you thought when I told you we were done?

Did you think to yourself "I hope you enjoy the cold arms of the lovers who don't actually love you?"
"You'll miss the way I looked at you"
"You'll miss the way I kissed you"
"You'll miss the way I loved you"

Did you think how happy you would be to see me so sad?
Because you know I can't help myself and I can't stay away from you,
Even if you're poison to my veins.

Did you, in after being months apart, me running to you, looking for shelter from the rain, have the joy in seeing my face twist in agony as you push me away?

Did you ask yourself if I ever loved you,
And convince yourself I didn't?
If leaving you twice times the same way was so simple so must the third
But darling I'm falling.

I'm falling into pits of my own darkness.

I saw a pencil sharpener and took out the blade.
I cleaned it and hid it and think about it every day.
And right after the thought of that I think of you and what you would say

You May not be my 2pm thought
But you're my thought at 9pm
When I tell my demons no
And throw my blade away.
Cat Fiske Apr 2015
You seem to hurt my heart,                                                          
­Repetitively,                                                    ­                              
and the doctors say:                                                             ­         
                                       "They can’t bandage a word broken heart,"
   "When the bandage won’t  be able to fix me,"                              
This is when my body mutates,
Making it hard to breath ,                  
                                  Or really do anything,
This is when,
            My ribs,                                      
                 wrap around my heart,
trying to protect it from you,                                              
                               and while my lungs were unprotected,
and I was at a lack of breath,                          
                               ­  you seemed to take that,
with any happiness you could find,                
And I sat there,
        Shaking,
Then,                  
                 ­                                       Crying because it’s not even first period
what it feels like to have one, mine are because of my PTSD triggers
Swords and Roses Apr 2015
I noticed a small scar on my German teacher's elbow today
It called to me, reeled me in, filled my senses
It whispered of days and nights thought long-gone
When any sharp object in reach would do
When any little remark or joke or situation would set me off
It whispered of the sound of skin parting
And the bite of metal
And the eureka! of blood
And the taste of satisfaction
It whispered of the moment of peace
Tranquillity
When everything becomes nothing
And pain becomes everything
And nothing is painful

Then I remembered the tears of my mother
The horror in my friends' eyes
The shame I felt
The bitterness before each guilty slice
The stubbornness inside me screaming don't let it win!
The worry they feel
The pain I cause them
By causing pain to myself
And I return to reality
And she is still talking
Oblivious to my dip into darkness

I have won the battle
But the war will not be over for a long, long time
Aspen Apr 2015
you could search for
the reasons your entire
life but truth be told
you're ****** up and
that's all there is to it
beautiful or not you
are a walking tragedy
there's nothing more
disappointing than
waking up on accident
taking all the pills that
should have killed you
but couldn't get the job
done this really *****
JR Falk Apr 2015
I'm seventeen.
I have scars lining my ribs, my thighs, my arms and my mind.
I either count my calories or blur them altogether; 500 a day or 4000 a day.
I am not an athlete.
I have no illnesses.
I've never been diagnosed.
I've simply been attempting to be the woman I've been demanded I be.
I'm failing, miserably.
Right now:
My mom is unconscious, failing to drown herself in alcohol.
My sister has locked herself in her room, isolating.
My dad is telling my neighbors their views are wrong,
And I am lying in bed, binge eating.
I'm seventeen.
This poem really does not have a beat.
This poem is a flow,
steadier than my self esteem.
Mirrors lie and pictures steal.
TV taunts and horror is real,
I'm seventeen and
I've tried to die,
I've learned to lie
To family.
I'm no stranger to the sisters death and night.
Death;
gives and takes, reaping the soil with the bodies of the ill
bodied,
minded,
hearted.
Night;
darkens the world, honing in on those I was promised I could turn to,
reminding them I am no refuge, I am ill
bodied,
minded,
hearted.
I'm seventeen and
My hands shake at the thought of losing my balance,
Ironic seeing as I won't even be standing
But the thought of disappointing you
Throws me down without hesitation.
I'm seventeen.

****.
I'm seventeen.
vent. old lines tossed in and out, I'm really unsure on this. just writing right now.
JR Falk Apr 2015
Mia
Who are you to stare at me?
Who are you to give me such harsh words?
Who are you?
Why do you do these things to me?
Why do you compare me to others?
Why do you insist I am never enough to you?
When did I do something to deserve this?
When did I begin to eat too much?
When did I begin to wrong you?
Why am I getting wider?
Why haven't you stopped me from binging?
Why haven't I been purging?
Who is Mia?

Where has she been?

What is she known for?

When did she come?

Why did she choose me?

How have I been so blind?
just shot it out, I really don't know. I guess I'm binge eating right now and it brought back some memories.
Dead Lock Apr 2015
Now there's an artist
But here's the funny twist
Her brush is a blade
And her canvas is her wrist
I'm sorry to those of us
Emma S Apr 2015
From time to time
You forget the world around you
All you feel is nothing
your mind is empty
Your heart is calm
Nothing matters
You feel hypnotised
The river you just created
That lets the red anxiety flow
That leaves you with a feeling
Of numbness
The river is getting deeper
You are getting calmer
You do it over and over
Even though you know
It will be even worse very very soon
You still have now
You still have this
For once you feel ok
And you wonder
Maybe it's ok
To create your own waterfall
I'm sorry if this triggers anyone. Please be safe. Take care. Remember; those who don't believe in magic will never find it.
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