#reduction - Hello Poetry

A Cut Never Never again Not one cut Throw them out You keep it together Make sure that you don't Dig your nails into your skin Because even being clean has its limits If you're clean you can still find ways to do it Even the purest of people have felt a little pain before It's almost time to cut again, but aren't you clean since then? But I'd argue that being clean means way more than just not cutting I'd be clean a million days if it meant way more than just not cutting Blood don't mean I'm not clean, it just means that I did it, harming Even if I didn't cut, I'd still be ***** cutting don't mean nothing People can never have cut before, and still be just like me Having scars and wounds and burns, is useless It doesn't define much other than the fact, You were sort of bold one time I'd rather not be bold I'd rather be Somewhat of a cat coward or a rat

0

May 1

May 1, 2026 at 4:38 PM UTC

Numbr1SNSfan

Harm Reduction

A Cut Never Never again Not one cut Throw them out You keep it together Make sure that you don't Dig your nails into your skin Because even being clean has its limits If you're clean you can still find ways to do it Even the purest of people have felt a little pain before It's almost time to cut again, but aren't you clean since then? But I'd argue that being clean means way more than just not cutting I'd be clean a million days if it meant way more than just not cutting Blood don't mean I'm not clean, it just means that I did it, harming Even if I didn't cut, I'd still be ***** cutting don't mean nothing People can never have cut before, and still be just like me Having scars and wounds and burns, is useless It doesn't define much other than the fact, You were sort of bold one time I'd rather not be bold I'd rather be Somewhat of a cat coward or a rat

28

The exhaustion sits in bone, not muscle. Muscle forgets. Bone— accrues. The weight of it, the wait of it, writes itself on my forehead — crease lines that already know what's coming. They see it before I name it. My hands go still half an inch above where they were going to land — fingers forget their next small job. Someone asks something. I hear it twice: once in the room, once already answered wrong. In the half-second before I speak my mouth is already closing around it. They saw that. A hand on my arm. Warmer than it should be. I register the pressure before the intention. Something flinches toward it and stops short — like reaching for heat and finding glass. I nod too quickly. Say thank you with my body angled away. The warmth sits just outside the skin where I am already burning. Staying looks like the silence after something shifts and doesn’t settle back. Not withdrawal. Discipline. Not defending the way I see it every time they name a wound I didn’t give them but share the structure of. I hold the floor. I do not fill it. Pattern recognition looks like schizophrenia until you are proven right. Being proven right is not relief. It means the harm happened. I refuse exile. I refuse silence. I stay — at the cost of the bones, the creases, the burning, the discipline of knowing before I am believed. The door stays open. The line stays real.

0

Apr 16

Apr 16, 2026 at 9:07 PM UTC

Doriangrayisme

The Cost of Staying

The exhaustion sits in bone, not muscle. Muscle forgets. Bone— accrues. The weight of it, the wait of it, writes itself on my forehead — crease lines that already know what's coming. They see it before I name it. My hands go still half an inch above where they were going to land — fingers forget their next small job. Someone asks something. I hear it twice: once in the room, once already answered wrong. In the half-second before I speak my mouth is already closing around it. They saw that. A hand on my arm. Warmer than it should be. I register the pressure before the intention. Something flinches toward it and stops short — like reaching for heat and finding glass. I nod too quickly. Say thank you with my body angled away. The warmth sits just outside the skin where I am already burning. Staying looks like the silence after something shifts and doesn’t settle back. Not withdrawal. Discipline. Not defending the way I see it every time they name a wound I didn’t give them but share the structure of. I hold the floor. I do not fill it. Pattern recognition looks like schizophrenia until you are proven right. Being proven right is not relief. It means the harm happened. I refuse exile. I refuse silence. I stay — at the cost of the bones, the creases, the burning, the discipline of knowing before I am believed. The door stays open. The line stays real.

73

The world takes it’s time Leaves dance slow Dancing in a static world My face is different to me Can you tell me whats real?

0

Jun 10, 2019

Jun 10, 2019 at 4:58 PM UTC

Keplar

Diminution

The world takes it’s time Leaves dance slow Dancing in a static world My face is different to me Can you tell me whats real?

5