#self harming thoughts in a poem

[zakajnespim]

(TW: self harming thoughts)

(A very average "poem" by me :D)

Razors feel too sharp, and I don't like the way the cut my skin

(Am I really sick or am I just pretending?)

So instead I use scissors - knife

And I hope I'll bleed, but not too much

And I hope I'll die young

-

My favourite hobby is sabotaging my own life

[bigeyesbigsad]

nothing like writing about suicidal thoughts on a mechanical keyboard <3

[hersurvival]

Something heavy rests upon my chest.

Debilitating dread bordering on paranoia.

Something bad is about to happen.

You're going to ruin everything.

Lose it all, end up all alone.

Violent waves of intense sadness

Crash into me, drag me out.

Drowning before I can understand

How I ended on shore.

Detached, dissociated

In the middle of the night.

Woken by nightmares I can't recall.

Static courses throughout my body,

Numb yet shivering

In puddles of cold sweat.

What's real? What's happening?

Thoughts howl,

Calling for blood on the bathroom floor.

"Situational. Normal."

[madeofmosaic]

'appetizer' a.k.a i wrote a poem instead of searching for a therapist.

I don’t think I’m hungry any more.

I think I lost my appetite a long time ago.

I simply eat because I was taught the need for food.

the thought of food makes my stomach turn into knots and makes my throat narrow.

even my body refuses to eat and rejects the food I push down my throat.

I eat because I was taught to be grateful for it, like how a stray dog is thankful for being fed.

I only eat because someone goes out of their way to put food in front of me.

I was taught to yearn for food, like how a stray dog yearns for food in the trash bin.

maybe it's because of the blood in me.

maybe it’s the sickness that runs through the blood and gets passed down.

I don’t want more of their blood, so I stopped eating.

I started to remove the blood from my veins, I thought if I removed it, I could gain back my appetite.

but I didn’t want to leave this world behind.

I still wanted to cherish the food that they put in front of me.

so sucked it up and ate even when the food tasted weird, was slightly off colour, or had weird parts in it that I didn’t like.

I suffered through every meal, so that they wouldn’t be pushy about the fact that I’ve lost my appetite.

I’ve lost my appetite when I was a child, and maybe I’ll never get it back.

maybe I've lost it because of the blood in my veins.

maybe I’ve lost while playing outside.

maybe I left it at an old friend's house.

maybe my appetite left when you did.

maybe I’ve left it at my grandmother’s house.

I wonder if I could go back, I could retreat it from a childhood memory.

maybe I could retreat lost memories of you, too, in hopes that I can bring you into the future with me.

create another universe where you never left, and neither did my appetite.

sometimes I think I need to blame myself for being careless.

deep down, I know it was never really my fault.

perhaps it just runs in my blood.

[a-j-s-the-only]

my darling, I will meet you exactly where you are

your scars don’t scare me.

[inkedswordd]

I wander aimlessly on the streets of some foreign town as it drizzles. The hems of my pants soaked in dirty water, my feet swollen and cold from walking in puddles for far too long. I no longer know which street I'm passing by, only the fact that I'm walking towards something. I momentarily close my eyes as I cross the traffic infested road, hoping, praying that some stray vehicle hits me and ends this here. But it doesn't. And I walk.

-a day in my life, inkedSword

[theiaevangelineashwell]

It was never meant to go this far

A messy room

One cut

Unfinished homework

Two cuts

Dirty dishes

Three cuts

A bad grade

Four

It was right in front of your face the whole time

Fluorescent lights

A school counselor's office

“Why would you do this”

“It must be that music”

“You’re making us feel like we failed as parents”

Well maybe you fucking did

[dearest-lady-disdain]

a little life has been driving me insane ever since i have commenced reading it because while it is not without merit, the novel fetishises suffering to such a degree that it drives me crazy

[depressionreallysuckss]

Once she made a drawing

Once, she had made a drawing.

She was in kindergarten and her teacher was surprised at how detailed a stick figure could look.

That night, her parents didn't fight,

Her mother hung the drawing on the wall, and told everyone the story of how her daughter drew differently.

That was the year her parents divorced.

Once, she had made a drawing.

She was in elementary school, and her teacher was surprised at how detailed it looked.

Her mother hung it on the wall, more out of obligation than admiration. She didn't tell anyone about how her daughter drew.

Her father expected better, her mother didn't care.

That was the year she wanted them to be proud.

Once, she made a drawing.

She was in middle school, her art teacher found she had talent but still needed to improve. There were not enough details anymore to impress anyone.

She didn't show it to her mother when she came home.

That was the year she got her first B.

Once, she made a drawing.

She had improved just like she had been told to. Her art teacher was surprised at how realistic it was, and hung it on the classroom's wall.

Her mother never knew about it.

That was the year she tried really hard to be perfect.

Once, she made a drawing.

It was her last year of middle school, her teacher said it was great, like all she had done, but never hung it up.

Her mother didn't acknowledge it.

That was the year she tried harder.

She made another one, the best so far, one of her family.

Her father was impressed, her mother framed it and hung it on the wall.

That year, she was dying inside.

Once, she made a drawing.

She was in high school, now. She didn't take art class anymore, her teachers didn't care.

Her mother asked her to make a new drawing, just like she used to.

She said she would do it later, because she didn't have the time. She had to study.

That was the year she gave up.

Once, she made a drawing.

This time, it wasn't with pencils and crayons, but with her own blood that she painted the canvas of her arms.

Her parents never noticed.

That was her last year.

As she drew on her skin, she looked at the wall, full of all the art that was ever deemed to be good.

Nobody liked her last art piece, because nobody likes tragedies. Yet, if you asked her, this was the most realistic she had ever been.

Her father cried, so did her mother. For the first time, they didn't fight.

That was the year she died.

[pisspeas69]

TW: depressing poetry with discussions of $h

Summer

I haven't always hated summer.

Swimming didn't hurt,

It was a relief from the heat,

The scorching,

Seeking,

Exposing,

Sun.

Now the water stings,

And I remember where I tore myself apart,

And the water hurts.

The sun shines on faded scars,

On red marks,

On divets in my skin.

Everyone can see,

But they don't.

Yet, I still crave to hide away,

To search my scarred skin,

For anywhere I can hide myself,

With stinging red marks.

[floweryaya]

i have always had this feeling of being a pen for this world

writing down feelings and stories of people

and never even thought of living through it myself

while falling in love with various people

never expecting it to be returned

just because i always ended up hurt

then, i, myself, became paper for the silver pen

writing down all the pain and feelings i couldn't describe

and suddenly, i felt better

finally

[thatsuicidalachiever]

oh baby, I'll starve myself for you.

[hersurvival]

It's no longer just the voices,

I can feel my blood burning,

Itching to be let out,

To drip and glisten across my skin.

But tip to flesh,

Your voice rang in my head,

How convinced you are that I am so strong.

So I settled for a few surface scratches,

That way when you ask how I slept

I don't have to tell you it was in the red.

Arguing with you

About my strength is one thing.

But to prove just how weak I really am?

To show you new scars and lacerated skin?

That might actually kill me.

[bigeyesbigsad]

[a-j-s-the-only]

your scars are beautiful my love

[mothmansdepression]

Your words cut deeper than the blades you made me use.

Your silence cut even deeper still.

I was young, and still had a beautiful soul,

But you shattered it whole.

Now I'm nearly eighteen,

Still wishing for what could've been.