I feel like a
stranger
in my own skin.
I tear open my veins,
trying to break free
from this prison;
but, in the end,
all I am left with
is blood stained flesh,
a hallow feeling in my chest,
and a shell of the person
who I once was.
(DS)
in my own skin.
I tear open my veins,
trying to break free
from this prison;
but, in the end,
all I am left with
is blood stained flesh,
a hallow feeling in my chest,
and a shell of the person
who I once was.
(DS)
nothing about me is
poetic.
nothing about how I think is beautiful;
the fact that I hate myself,
and want to tear open my veins,
and think of twenty-two ways (and reasons)
to kill myself before noon,
isn’t tragically beautiful
(it’s just tragic,
and really fücking sad).
don’t turn me into a misunderstood
piece of art, and do not belittle
my sorrows so your antagonist
can have someone to save.
nothing about me is poetic;
nothing about me is beautiful.
(DS)
nothing about how I think is beautiful;
the fact that I hate myself,
and want to tear open my veins,
and think of twenty-two ways (and reasons)
to kill myself before noon,
isn’t tragically beautiful
(it’s just tragic,
and really fücking sad).
don’t turn me into a misunderstood
piece of art, and do not belittle
my sorrows so your antagonist
can have someone to save.
nothing about me is poetic;
nothing about me is beautiful.
(DS)
My friend grabbed my
wrist today
he didn't know that depsite my smiles, I was not okay
{ar}
he didn't know that depsite my smiles, I was not okay
{ar}
Metal seldom pierces skin,
To let out the pain within.
Scarlett trails down pale flesh.
White scars hide your beauty.
It breaks me to see you like this,
So full of pain and self loathing.
I wish my words would stay with you,
Permanently.
So you could see how perfect you are to me.
I love you.
To let out the pain within.
Scarlett trails down pale flesh.
White scars hide your beauty.
It breaks me to see you like this,
So full of pain and self loathing.
I wish my words would stay with you,
Permanently.
So you could see how perfect you are to me.
I love you.
I miss the coldness of the metal
that I pierced into me
oh-so sinfully.
and the warmth
of the crimson liquid
that flowed down
my wrist.
I miss your soothing words,
medicine for my aching soul.
I miss feeling loved,
and dreaming about our future—
together.
I miss many things.
But, most of all,
I miss who I used to be.
(DS)
that I pierced into me
oh-so sinfully.
and the warmth
of the crimson liquid
that flowed down
my wrist.
I miss your soothing words,
medicine for my aching soul.
I miss feeling loved,
and dreaming about our future—
together.
I miss many things.
But, most of all,
I miss who I used to be.
(DS)
Just because I've been a good girl
and I haven't torn open my skin recently,
doesn't mean the thoughts in my head
aren't killing me painstakingly slow;
it doesn't mean I'm any less fücked up.
(DS)
and I haven't torn open my skin recently,
doesn't mean the thoughts in my head
aren't killing me painstakingly slow;
it doesn't mean I'm any less fücked up.
(DS)
You’re too young to hate the world.
That’s what they keep on saying,
over and over again; trying to reason
with me, trying to convince me that
this hatred inside of me is
absurd and irrelevant.
But, apparently, I’m not too young
to have my innocence stolen
from me before I was old enough
to even understand what
was happening to me.
I’m not too young to take a blade
to my skin in attempt to bleed
out all of my demons.
I’m not too young to pump myself
full of medication to numb
myself not only from the pain,
but from the happiness too.
I’m not too young to count calories
and hate myself every time I take
another bite.
I’m not too young to look in
the mirror and hate what I
see because I’ll never be
beautiful like the women in
the magazines;
I’m not too young to be deemed
unworthy because I don’t act,
talk, and look a cetain way;
the way that is deemed
by society.
But, I am too young
to hate the world.
(DS)
That’s what they keep on saying,
over and over again; trying to reason
with me, trying to convince me that
this hatred inside of me is
absurd and irrelevant.
But, apparently, I’m not too young
to have my innocence stolen
from me before I was old enough
to even understand what
was happening to me.
I’m not too young to take a blade
to my skin in attempt to bleed
out all of my demons.
I’m not too young to pump myself
full of medication to numb
myself not only from the pain,
but from the happiness too.
I’m not too young to count calories
and hate myself every time I take
another bite.
I’m not too young to look in
the mirror and hate what I
see because I’ll never be
beautiful like the women in
the magazines;
I’m not too young to be deemed
unworthy because I don’t act,
talk, and look a cetain way;
the way that is deemed
by society.
But, I am too young
to hate the world.
(DS)
You
think that everything would be
better without you, correct?
You’re utterly convinced that no
one needs you, right?
Right now, I want you to go to
your special hiding place and
get your knife, your blade,
your lighter; whatever tool
you’ve spent countless nights
battling, turning to for some
type of comfort. Now, I want you
to hold that tool. I want you to
feel the weight of it within
your palm. Feel the coldness
against your warm skin.
Now, picture this:
your mother, going to your room
to wake you up, only to find your
corpse on the ground, surrounded
by your own blood.
Can you hear it now?
The shrieks of terrors,
the uncontrollably sobbing.
Can you hear it now?
Then, your father comes running
to your room, finding your mother,
his wife, clutching your limp
body (his precious baby); screaming
to the heavens, desperately wishing
that she would just wake up from this nightmare.
He runs to her, pulling her away
from your body, shielding her
away from the horror. He bites his tongue,
holding back the sobs.
An hour later, they’ve collected
the body and your mother hasn’t
moved from the couch, blankly staring
into space; still waiting, hoping, praying
that she’ll wake up from this nightmare.
Your farther is in the other room,
sobbing silently; the same man
who you never once saw cry,
broken down.
Still believe your life means nothing?
Now picture your sibling, your sister, your brother,
getting called to the office; their teacher telling
them it’s an emergency. Your parents are there,
your mother is crying, your father is holding
her shaking body. Your sibling is confused, frightened.
They tell them the news, and the teacher
has to catch them before they fall
to the ground.
It was just last night you two
were bickering over what movie
to watch. It was just last night they
heard your laugh, saw your smile.
It was just last night.
When they tell your best friend,
they break down; you two were
supposed to see a movie that weekend.
You two were going to get pizza; now you’re gone,
and they’re left alone to fight their own demons.
It’s been one month.
Your door remains closed,
no one dares to go in there.
Your mother has shut down,
not knowing how to go on.
She cries herself to sleep every night.
Blaming herself for not telling you
how much she loves you.
Your father goes through the motions,
but some nights, he has a little too
much whiskey, hoping to numb the
pain that seems to have settled
on his chest.
Your sibling has gone silent,
turning to the knife to deal
with the pain that has taken
over them. Almost ever night,
they break down, punching
the ground, screaming your name
to the heavens.
Your best friend goes out every night,
drinking to forget the ache in their chest.
Just one more glass of vodka to forget,
even for a little while.
And where are you?
You’re six feet under the ground,
rotting away silently.
While everyone you loved,
who loved you, is continuing
their lives—but there’s a void
in their a hearts, a space where
you once lived in.
Did you know that you’re
the reason your best friend
didn’t kill them self?
Did you know that you were
your sibling’s best friend?
Your parents’ pride and joy?
The light of everyone’s lives.
No, because you were blinded
by your sadness; you let
the darkness win.
Don’t let the darkness win.
Put the tool down, you’re
needed elsewhere.
(DS)
better without you, correct?
You’re utterly convinced that no
one needs you, right?
Right now, I want you to go to
your special hiding place and
get your knife, your blade,
your lighter; whatever tool
you’ve spent countless nights
battling, turning to for some
type of comfort. Now, I want you
to hold that tool. I want you to
feel the weight of it within
your palm. Feel the coldness
against your warm skin.
Now, picture this:
your mother, going to your room
to wake you up, only to find your
corpse on the ground, surrounded
by your own blood.
Can you hear it now?
The shrieks of terrors,
the uncontrollably sobbing.
Can you hear it now?
Then, your father comes running
to your room, finding your mother,
his wife, clutching your limp
body (his precious baby); screaming
to the heavens, desperately wishing
that she would just wake up from this nightmare.
He runs to her, pulling her away
from your body, shielding her
away from the horror. He bites his tongue,
holding back the sobs.
An hour later, they’ve collected
the body and your mother hasn’t
moved from the couch, blankly staring
into space; still waiting, hoping, praying
that she’ll wake up from this nightmare.
Your farther is in the other room,
sobbing silently; the same man
who you never once saw cry,
broken down.
Still believe your life means nothing?
Now picture your sibling, your sister, your brother,
getting called to the office; their teacher telling
them it’s an emergency. Your parents are there,
your mother is crying, your father is holding
her shaking body. Your sibling is confused, frightened.
They tell them the news, and the teacher
has to catch them before they fall
to the ground.
It was just last night you two
were bickering over what movie
to watch. It was just last night they
heard your laugh, saw your smile.
It was just last night.
When they tell your best friend,
they break down; you two were
supposed to see a movie that weekend.
You two were going to get pizza; now you’re gone,
and they’re left alone to fight their own demons.
It’s been one month.
Your door remains closed,
no one dares to go in there.
Your mother has shut down,
not knowing how to go on.
She cries herself to sleep every night.
Blaming herself for not telling you
how much she loves you.
Your father goes through the motions,
but some nights, he has a little too
much whiskey, hoping to numb the
pain that seems to have settled
on his chest.
Your sibling has gone silent,
turning to the knife to deal
with the pain that has taken
over them. Almost ever night,
they break down, punching
the ground, screaming your name
to the heavens.
Your best friend goes out every night,
drinking to forget the ache in their chest.
Just one more glass of vodka to forget,
even for a little while.
And where are you?
You’re six feet under the ground,
rotting away silently.
While everyone you loved,
who loved you, is continuing
their lives—but there’s a void
in their a hearts, a space where
you once lived in.
Did you know that you’re
the reason your best friend
didn’t kill them self?
Did you know that you were
your sibling’s best friend?
Your parents’ pride and joy?
The light of everyone’s lives.
No, because you were blinded
by your sadness; you let
the darkness win.
Don’t let the darkness win.
Put the tool down, you’re
needed elsewhere.
(DS)
I can't figure out what's
worse, the fact that I
reached for the blade,
or that I was too sad
to pick it up.
(DS)
worse, the fact that I
reached for the blade,
or that I was too sad
to pick it up.
(DS)
It was three in the morning
when I found you on the
bathroom floor, curled into
yourself, sobbing silently.
I rushed towards you,
pulling you into my arms,
grasping tightly, scared that
if I let go, you would float away.
Your blood stained hands clutched
onto my shirt tightly, burying your
head into my chest; I’m sorry, you
whispered over and over again.
I kissed your forehead, rocking you
back and forth gently, rubbing your
back soothingly. I bit my lip, holding
back the sobs that were threatening
to overtake me. It’s okay, I whispered
softly; running my fingers
through your hair.
We both knew I couldn‘t
be your savior; no matter
how much I wanted to;
there were just some
demons that you needed
to fight alone.
But, no matter what,
I will always be with you,
holding you through the
nights that are so cruel
to you; when the demons
win, and it’s just too much
for you to take.
I will always be there.
(DS)
when I found you on the
bathroom floor, curled into
yourself, sobbing silently.
I rushed towards you,
pulling you into my arms,
grasping tightly, scared that
if I let go, you would float away.
Your blood stained hands clutched
onto my shirt tightly, burying your
head into my chest; I’m sorry, you
whispered over and over again.
I kissed your forehead, rocking you
back and forth gently, rubbing your
back soothingly. I bit my lip, holding
back the sobs that were threatening
to overtake me. It’s okay, I whispered
softly; running my fingers
through your hair.
We both knew I couldn‘t
be your savior; no matter
how much I wanted to;
there were just some
demons that you needed
to fight alone.
But, no matter what,
I will always be with you,
holding you through the
nights that are so cruel
to you; when the demons
win, and it’s just too much
for you to take.
I will always be there.
(DS)
