Suicidal Tendenciescourage doesn't comefrom the fibers you'reborn with. You aren'tbrave when you decideto be.when you wakeup in the bedsmeared with yourown self destructionand you act as thoughyou aren't crumblinginto the carpet.or when you holda piece of shrapnelto your veins andwant to sever every lastone, but you throw itout the window.or when you standon the sunsetwith clouds straddlingyour mind and yourwhole existence readyto hurl itself over therailing, but you limphome and through the screendoor and pretend to walkon air again.That is bravery.
Self-destructionyou do not knowfresh out of the wombhow to tear yourself apart.you know how to respirateand nictitate butyou are not taughtto want to spill thefew calories you just consumedbehind a locked door on thecold tile floor.no one tells you thatfilling your lungs with taris dangerous. or howsipping away at Smirnoff can'tnumb the screams inside yourhead forever.you receive nowarning on how addictivecarving your own scarsor charring your skincan be.and no one mentions howphysically taxing it isto talk with a loaded gunbetween your teeth.you aren't born self-destructiveit's a diseasecommunicableand deadly
Glassi found a mangled bodyand tried to fix it.but i got too closeand ended up cutting myselfon the jagged remains.the bleeding hasn't stopped.
fe(b)r(u)a(ry)today i stared atdeath, who waspainted the colour ofa young man.his blood didn'tcirculate with minebut i was sewn intothe black likeeveryone else.i was surrounded bythe bloody remains of ascreaming car crash, andpeople's thoughts were gaspingfor air in the snowalong with man-madesnowflakesi always thought the firstfuneral i'd attendwould bemy own
11:47roses are redviolets are bluecompliments mean nothingwhen coming from you.don't tell me i'm skinnydon't call me fatjust acknowledge i'm humanand leave it at that.
Hookedhe got attachedlike velcrobut iwas fused to himwith super glueso whenhe pulled awayit stung me harder
Saviori used tostumble overthe same brokenfog infectedhighway, behind alayer ofnostalgiaand pineuntil he cameand painteda galaxy acrossthe rocksand pasted starsall alongmy wrists
nostalgia is poisoncall me a hoarder if youwant.i steal memories fromnettle-strewn alleywaysand crystallized diningrooms,collect them inkisses and nasty littlescars.i can't seem to partwith them, no matter howseverely they threaten myhealth
twenty-threescars are like tattooswithout ink.no matter howthey got there, you stilllike the look of them.
.sleep left himexhausted;when he closedhis eyes he sailedthrough graveyards,and every nighthe threw himselfoverboard
.i dug up thepast again, thosememories viciousand snarlingi set them looseinside the houseand now we haveto leave
AsylumI dance through echoing rooms in my mind,Up the creaking stairs that lead to No-PlaceAnd play in the memories left behindWhen Reality chose to show her face.So clear now, every neuron's trail sparkingTo paint the portraits clinging to the walls.So obvious the shattered glass markingRemains of naïve dreams that strew these halls.And now through the gardens of withered rue,And imagined fountains flowing with thoughtTo deny the need for the Darkness whoHelps conceal the asylum gates I wrought.
Fallrain soaks through yourscalp, blending with thedrips from those twoleaky green windowsyou can hide behindflannels and sloppy kisses,but you might be one dreamaway from another personalityso let the cold kill youpiece by piece,for even weedscome back again.
Muscle MemorySix Word Story:Loving you has become muscle memory.(hz)
sewingyou can cut yourselffrom on personand stitch yourself toanother, but the oldcloth will alwaysbe there
AlcoholicYour tux is the colorof a coal miner’s faceafter a long, hard day of work:something you’ve neverhad to experienceYet you talk as thoughyou’re just as worn out;your trivial chit-chatis turning syrupy with every sip,although your sentencesaren’t getting any sweeterAnd you grab another glassof the effervescent liquid,hoping the sea of black will blend together,and it will be dark enoughfor you to fall asleepAnd as you walk tipsily to the bathroom,the overpaid opera singerbelts her last high note- a bit too high;your crystal glass shattersinto a thousand piecesAnd with it, you shatter too.
a note on ex-loversdo not make the personyou deemed unlovableinto solid granite;for they, too, are human.and they may not deserveyour softness anymore,but if you treat themlike a monster, you'reno better than them
those who lie behind eyelidsi. benjamin iwe watched silent films.you bought an excitable child sweetswith money you couldn't spare.i often wish you were stillhere.ii. marcelwe hid devotionin quiet moments.grew older;grew apart.iii. samueli had always mocked thosewho claimed thatinnocence is bliss,but darling;your innocence was blissful.iv. damonnearly four years pastbut you're still so presenta specter spectatorlying arrogant, indolenton the sidelines of me;sullying touch,chaining me close.v. benjamin iiyour lips were always dryand you gave up too soon.when you left, i spentforty-six sleepless nightson the living room sofa;i couldn't go near the bed.vi. jessicayou looked right through me,searching only for thejealousy blossomingin his eyes.vii. jaredheaven closed up shopwhen we passed by;forever fell ill and fled.i can't help but wonderif i haunt your silencesthe way you inhabitmine.viii. davidyou
10 ways depression can say i don't love you1. "i'm sorryi don't want tocome over today."the clock reads 4pmand i roll over in my bedagain.2. "i forgot it was yourbirthday."i'd forgotten my owntoo.3. "i promise i won'thurt myself."the ER doesn't believeit's an accidentanymore.4. you asked if i loved you.i had to sneeze and itnever happened.i think you took thatas a no.5. we haven't had sex in a month.6. we don't seeyour friends.we don't seemy friends.i've forgotteni even have any.7. i never answered your text.it asked if i was okay.8. "i need you to open yourselfup for me," you said.i stopped talking.9. "what do you want from me,blood?"apparently you didn't.10. tonight i will sleep alonebut not really.depression will hold mecloseand stroke my hair,telling me everythingwill never beall right.
you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,it's more of a hurricane than a firesince he broke in & burnedmy curtainsmy floorsmy bridgesmy selfbut sometimes I see her with a lighter& she finishes what he didn't do(I think she's afraidof settling in,being quiet)but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights onto frighten away the bridges & the peopleso no one will come inside& smash the teacups, steal the pipesbecause since he burnt her beds outno one lives there anymore
blowing my teeth out the back of my skullI.we are hynagogic wasteland words, unravelingcorpses clutching at bruised throats - white gasolineII.and when your skin heals, i hope i've permeated your bones( i will never be rid of you ).
two minutes at the bottom of the oceani open my eyes and the room is underwater a refraction of light--a trouttail flicked & then the sediment settleslike dysentery, this narcoleptic soulto pulse, spininto a paralysis of theno--this is the pressure that creaks in my bones:this is the space between my mouth and my mind& the few centimeters between my ears are pulsingwith the things I cannot get to my handsbut my head is not a fucking ocean:it's a flaw in chemistry
we can only hurt ourselvesthe light from your cigarette was the light in your eyes
From Mia, With Lovelast night i caught her with a finger so far down the back of her throat,she pulled up her thoughtsinto all the watera refraction of light &a troutsuspended until suddenly all the water in her head sloshes(a faint inner rippleas the pain leaks out her ears, her nose)she was gasping to throw herself onto the next commabut noshe sinks or swims [the cliche, a baracuda, drags her down]but if this was a love songshe'd hate itbecause she's already written 46 on her handto remind herself she's only human & a weak gag reflex runs in her familyso walk straight in, my love& sink to the bottomsix feet under these bulimic stars
Astrali'm the seraphicromanticist,a hallowed bodyswallowing galaxieslike i am hellbent onself-deterioration
Papier-mache face If I was all alone in a darkened roomI'd be no more alone than I am with you.A mask and a good costume,That's all it takes to hide what's true.And you stand there and lie with such good graceAs if not aware that I know what's real.I can read what's on your face,But there's nothing there to reveal.So blank, so distant, and so cold;Papier-mâché face, lost to reality.You're just a projection of the lies you've toldIn the guise of prudent neutrality.
and i have tried to make it right.i.let me tell you a storyusing six words.their names become parts of statistics.let me tell you a storyusing six words.“suicide is the easy way out.”let me tell you a storyusing six wordsthat will never be told.pain is not a fuckingchoice.--ii.do you still pray,knowing there will be no answer?see, i cannot speak for thosewho have no voice to givebut, sincerely, these are the six wordsi respond with:i wish i could save you.--iii.we live our lives being told thatthere is always a safety net -that there are people designed to protect us.i’m going to use six words because,sometimes,the saddest storiestake the fewest words to tell.for them, there was never anyone.--iv.blades can cut wrists buthere are six words:blades can cut stories short, too.--v.i have approximately 250,000 wordsto choose fromto try and describe to you what suicide isbut i don’t
Still Oxidizinglast nighti read theobituariesand when i sawyour name wasn't deaddecaying or rustingrotting in a forestmingling with a pile ofashes, i realizedyou really couldlive without me