#scratches
The silence is deafening.
How many days has it been?
I can almost make out the faint calls,
Of someone in the distance.
But just as quickly as they appear,
They vanish without a trace.
So, I sit against the wall,
Hugging my knees to my chest.
Scratches on the rough concrete behind me
Marking the depth of my agony
How long will I rot in this cage,
Before someone notices that I am missing?
Feb 13, 2025
Feb 13, 2025 at 3:04 PM UTC
it's the whisper of a weary goodbye
caught in a sea of hellos
the faintest touch against your lip
from a manicured hand
or one so callused
it's fingertips rough as they glide on your skin
it's that feeling of familiarity
in a place so foreign
where no one knows your name but you
or who you are
and when you wander around at night
to stumble into your kitchen
making the pots and pans rattle against each other
it's the burning in your chest that goes down your throat
and into your stomach
birthing butterflies that flutter around
it's the cold splashes of water on heated skin
the tear stained pillowcases, the tear stained sweaters
the near-bleeding red scratches of the night before
and the deep blues and purples of a bruise
and when you've had enough
it's the mind-numbing ringing in your ears
and the sudden wash of everything at once
when you take those rose-tinted glasses off
maybe it's love.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 11:05 AM UTC
dragging your claws
along the skin
of one who has
(long before this)
done the same
to her and him,
that and those.
trying to bring to the surface
what lies buried
(far below)
remember,
what you know about time
that sees under your you
to take what lies low
high
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 4:31 PM UTC
Did you hear that?
That shear pain
That sounds like scratches on a chalkboard.
That horrible sound that makes you think of the last rejection from your crush.
Did you think about that one moment that everyone around you knows the truth about you but you
That’s funny because you see the truth all around you,
All you could hope is that no one notices all the issues in your life
Everyone sees what’s going wrong in your life while you are putting on this big cheese smile,
Knowing that your whole world is on fire
And I don’t mean a little campfire fire, I mean a fire that could take out an entire country
A fire that could burns you from the inside out.
You can tell who have been fighting this fire within themselves
It’s worse when all the people involved end up acting like they know nothing
You just have to sit there and wonder what is going to happen next
This is that moment that you hear that shear pain all over again
You feel that fire that burned you
Sometimes you just got to think about how you got there
Did you ever think that someone is setting you up to fail?
That’s something I always thought about
Why, why would someone like myself think that way?
Well, let’s get real.
Everyone has an agenda, whether you were meant to be there or not.
That agenda changes more times than I do into an outfit to go out in
Which is upsetting because all I do is try on different sets of shirts to get told
“Just wear that, no one is going to care”
Sorry that I actually care about my appearance
Sorry that you wanted me to just choose one shirt
But I am not sorry for making myself look different
Because when I am out, I want to be a different person
That is my moment to meet someone new,
Every time I’ve gone out with my friends I made at least one new friend
So I am not sorry for trying on different sets of shirts to remind myself that I am meeting someone new
Someone that didn’t know I was going to change their agenda
But one thing I will always notice is that once you change someone’s agenda
Your agenda stays the same,
This one person I met at a bar
We chatted it up, I learned they lived in my same borough, they got me a couple of drinks
All I gave them was my Facebook profile…
Clearly I was making “a move” as my best friend told me
That’s the moment that I questioned where my agenda was taking me
My agenda wanted me to feel that shear pain again
But it raises the question of why does being nice have to look like flirting now?
How does that make sense?
So if I compliment your outfit, does that mean that I want you in my bed?
No...it means that I think your outfit is cute
I just can’t even comprehend that thought process of how we got to that point
My mother always told me to be nice to everyone
I guess that would make me a flirtatious person…
But guess what I am not that person
I’m the person that fights for what I believes in
Fights for the people closest to my heart
This is all about that shear pain that makes me think of a scratching on a chalkboard
That shear pain wasn’t created physically
It was all about the words that was said aloud to me
Jun 4, 2019
Jun 4, 2019 at 2:00 PM UTC
The marks you left behind after the bruises faded
A flinch at a hesitant touch
Afraid to be alone with someone
Afraid to be touched in a hug
It isn't on purpose
I swear
I just panic at touches even by family
From what you left when the bruises had healed over
May 25, 2019
May 25, 2019 at 1:10 AM UTC
sometimes an acrid heat
rises in my vocal cords
it tells me to do things
i don't want to do
but i do want it
i just wish i didn't.
it steals my voice
it masquerades as honor
it whispers justifications
it reveals itself to me
in a way i can't refuse
it tells me
it reminds me
how sweetly it stings
when i drag my fingers
against my skin
how could i say no?
i am weak
it wants me to hurt
i want to hurt
it wants me to hurt
i want to hurt
i(t) want(s me) to hurt
because it never was anything
but my own desires
i just didn't want them
to be mine
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 6:56 PM UTC
its funny how surface level scrapes
can cut deep.
No wonder they do not bleed;
but Weep.
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 5:42 PM UTC
I knew I’d had met him again one day.
it occurred …
when the sense of pain was just gone.
I’ve absorbed it all back at once
just once, by chance, he saw my eyes.
Sly strategist of mine.
we built hybrid addiction
ought to be banished
but for them all, you pounded loud.
Ancient visionary,
You go back and
dig my utter emptiness,
sweating not a drop of infinite.
You seek out what’s never been lost,
what’s baffled and vain,
rot and forceful either way.
Blue worship my reveries
thin like blades and air,
worn out like time, space
and everything in between.
Some shy away from shade,
beams are scratches of light to me.
Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
Crying like a fool
For a friend hurt my feelings
Scratches on my heart
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
hello
it's been a while since we've talked
you let me become a stranger
another face on a milk carton
helpless and sad; a lost soul
hello
it's been a while since we talked
i heard you went to my funeral
where they buried who i used to be
hello
a introduction; a greeting but
you let my hello turned strangled.
hello scratched through my dry throat and
when it finally pushed past my cracked lips
hello
sounded far too much like
help
Aug 28, 2015
Aug 28, 2015 at 9:48 PM UTC
You are strings of pearls that cross thresholds between worlds
Little beads of ecstasy threaded through debris
You’re a smile in the morning when the sun is fresh and bright
You are scratches in the dark when the day has turned to night
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 7:23 PM UTC
I just wanna die
Leaving all darks memories behind
Maybe lay under the cold rain
After death comes after me
What if a silver blade
Plays under my pale skin
And scarlet rivers run out of my veins
Until I can feel no pain
So I wonder if this was right
Or even if this isn't true
I just have to tell you
I'm sorry I really do
Excuse me if I can't cry
My eyes have no more tears
Blame all those sleepless nights
And those tragic years
Please forgive this erratic soul
Who can't understand how to be
In this freaking reality
Where everyone feels a hole
And is time to face the truth
I became a rotten one
I'm heartless monster
Who can't love even if I try
So now instead of looking
For redemption, miracle or pray
No my darling I don't behave well
I'm going to hell
Now pills wont affect me
Neither scratches will do
Only the pain I feel
After death comes after me
- Scratches, A suicidal poem
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
Cuts and wounds and scratches
Set deep in your skin
They create little tracks
Like Daddy's motorbike on
That deathly moor
Cuts and wounds and scratches
Creating red blood
To swell to the surface
Like Daddy's body on
That deathly moor
Cuts and wounds and scratches
They are
Deep
Angry
Ugly crevices
On the map of your body
Cuts and wounds and scratches
Deep enough as crevices
To fall and sink into
Just like Daddy did on
That deathly moor
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Covered in scratches
Covered in scrapes
Drowning in wounds
That eternally ache
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC
Unfrozen, surviving in miles of silent wasteland
Somehow risen from cold to my feet, but not breathing
Am I flawless that I drift so lightly with a Western wind?
Or so flawed that I don't admit I'm desperate for coming home
The final night with my elbows on the throne
Laughing over longing after end to the infinite.
Beheld well with the highest intention to flatter you
Maybe I'll die in laughter when you realize I invite you to bitterness,
brittleness to the shattering for which I'll want you close
Because with another's bloodstains I can live alone
Using what I've siphoned to make my ill-advised scratches on tablets on tabletops.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:14 AM UTC
I tear away at my skin
as a coping mechanism
for many things. It's tragic,
really...tearing away at the
vessel that carries me through
my attempts to save myself
from the world I live in.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
I like to imagine myself as a shield
Casting itself over it’s allies in battle
Saving them from shrapnel and enemy attack
On the front there was color
It has long faded into a plain metallic sheen
The color was not faded in one short stroke of grief
But rather by years and years of wear and misuse
It is filled with scratches
Some from enemies, some from allies, some from myself
On the back there are words
Some that I say all the time
Words like “I’m fine” and “Don’t worry about me”
Others are phrases I wished I heard
“Proud of you, son” “Good job, son”
These words serve to protect the guise
To persuade those who are protected by the shield
To never glance at the battle-worn front
Sometimes the shield is close to breaking
Mostly from overuse
Sometimes it breaks itself
Chipping pieces off wondering why it doesn’t feel whole anymore
What was once a thick, sturdy shield
Has become a frail, flimsy barrier
Ready to break at the slightest hit
It refuses to go easily
As if it were gone who would protect those behind it
How could such an imperative device be so easily replaced
How could others forget its purpose
How could the shield forget its own worth
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC