Tag Archives: pain

from a writer who can’t write, to a friend who doesn’t care

Sometimes I cry so hard from pleading
So sick and tired of all the needless beating
But baby when they knock you down
And out is where you ought to stay…

~*~

i’m never enough.

every time i build

my invincible walls

back up, you shatter

it with a crashing

sledgehammer

and a glint of your

candy fucking teeth

you’re so goddamn eloquent

an angel with a seraphim

choir voice, heavenly

and i’m just a shitty

raconteur, a useless dry

quill pretending to be

a writer, a croaking bullfrog,

a clean cut nothing

vying to be the something

you would notice and

admire back, and maybe

even e n v y . . .

but no, don’t read

the lines in the wrong

perspective, oh no

i adore you so much

darling, that it turns

my heart into chiseled

stone and devours my

lusted guts like acid

in my abandoned brain

for your creative spell

is my personal dante’s hell.

but this jealousy

hurts so fucking good

that i find ways to

compare, contrast

and inflict pain on myself

emotionally, mentally

p h y s i c a l l y

desiring the day you

finally notice my scars

and compliment them

and i’ll feel fucking

revered and glorified

by a cheap side remark

by a person who couldn’t care

to a thing with ugly taint.

am i really so insecure

as to resort to low blows

and pathetic attention whoring

to feel a little better

about my blithe existence?

F U C K. Y E S.

because no matter how

many beautiful words

i bleed in silver and gold

from my pen and

into the blank canvas,

prose, poetry, stories, lies—

i’m just never enough

to make myself worthy

for myself…

no, i’m never fucking enough

for you.

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A Box of Sharp Things

Please do not

Notice the fresh

Scars on my skin

It’s nothing—

My clumsy hands

Just slipped on a

Box of sharp things

Yet again…

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Six: metal & skin (v.)

sharp,

slash,

slit,

sanguis,

splash,

s[k]in.

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metal & skin (iv.)

i remember

memories

more vividly

when i’m

in pain,

so was it

my sin not

to forget, if

i want the

memories

to remain?

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metal & skin (iii.)

someone

please

give me a

blood donation

so i could

cut myself

and bleed out

all over again.

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metal & skin (ii.)

it feels

better if

you close

your eyes,

count to

three, and

pretend you

are bleeding

quaint stardust

instead of

putrid blood.

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metal & skin (i.)

it hurts

less if

you don’t

stop to

t h i n k.

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An Artist’s Love

may it be piano

or a guitar, i’ll

play it for you

may it be a pen

or quill, i’ll write

unfettered true

no matter how

many fingers i

break or bruise,

for you my dear

i’ll endure every

blister and callous.

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say that the night sings along

tiredness

melting my bones

into bitter milk

and liquid silver

melting

like an icy dream

trapped in an

iceberg madness

madness

of a turbid crown

piercing my

screaming flesh

screaming

a laryngitis screaming

as the strangled

bracelets acted

acted as manacles

melting into reverie

melted over

like a thousand

sleepless nights

caught up in the rain

a rain

rain of blood and

agony on the

spiral staircase steps

footsteps

every step an arrow

lodged in my achilles heel

tearing ligaments

striking joints

lacerating tendons

lacerated

like the crying veins

serpentine in my

bloodshot eyes

blinded eyes

don’t close my eyes

i might never wake

never arise again

again i fall into repose

falling—

and if you do

do not disturb me

from the everlasting sleep

i don’t deserve

s l e e p . . .

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Of Friends and Razor Blades

“I swear to god I did what I could, I practically begged you, I pretended everything was fine…!”

~*~

I’m stretching up for your fingertips

I’m starving for your acerbic glance

I’m singing loudly so you’d hear me

And give my lungs another chance

To expel all its empty explanations

And keep you from my nightmares

I reek of bloodlust and desperation

On wishes that I didn’t fucking care

And I loathe every beat of your soul

‘Cause it strikes my heart so painful

I’m a gun loaded with covetousness

And I hate I can’t clean up this mess

It is better off that way, they’ll all say

Why torture our life on moral decay?

We are too explosive, we all detonate

It’s best for burned towns to separate

But goddamn, you are too contagious

And despite the fact we are malicious

I’d rather endure pain to be your friend

Than to unravel my bandages but see it end.

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