Tag Archives: self harm

open season

i have never told you a single thing

because i do not want you involved

i do not want you to get in the way

of such trainwreck i have devolved

if it was better for me, i would bite

they all say it’s what’s fucking right

but i know there’s not a damn point

there’s only cliche bullshit to anoint

of medication and invasive therapy

that leaves no personal room for me

and i do not want paid-for sympathy

nor will i waste my time for insanity

six years i’ve been dealing out alone

and i’m still alive right now, aren’t i?

i’ve done everything to keep it all in

fucked in the head with fucking lies

but i’m fighting back, broke apology

i cut my wrists, but never too deeply

i repress depression, relapse, release

i’ve people to pull me out of the seas

i still hope, i still dream, and i’ll love

i’m still disgustingly human by blood

i am damaged, but that does not mean

that i’m not trying to change anything

so please just stay away from this mess

and honestly, this is just all for the best

say it’s help my mind need endures, but

you just might end up making me worse.

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metal & skin (xxx.)

i’m sorry

that i did it

but i’m not

sorry for you

and i don’t

fucking regret

the lies i spit

maybe it’s

all my fault

for wanting to

see something

heal and fix

itself in my life

you don’t need

to understand

and i don’t need

to explain myself

i don’t want help

because this is it

so fucking take

that away from

me too, won’t you?

maybe this time

i’ll resort to using

a sharper knife.

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metal & skin (xxviv.)

i’m not a fucking idiot

i know what i’m doing

and if you think you’ll

pacify me by freezing

my blood with iciness

then i’ll drown in your

concern, after all, you

damn know what’s best.

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metal & skin (xxviii.)

A rusted blade

Complications

Truth unmade

Foolish notion

Healing scars

Condescension

Judged sparse

Say it’s wrong.

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metal & skin (xxvii.)

fuck you

and your

high-flung

dramatic

opinions

you don’t

know shit

about all this

so just leave

me alone.

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metal & skin (xxvi.)

i’m not

relapsing

i just need

to vent

there’s too

much to be

gone, and

nothing spent.

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“cry for help”

thanks,

but i don’t

need your

bullshit

to be my

saving grace.

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I Collect Knives For A Living, What About You?

Did you think that this was all an excuse for
Hospitality, I know you think its all because of me
At first glance, I’ll breathe in
Leaving myself no room to move, at all
My mind is so flooded and I’m drunk with regret…

~*~

The tastes of stale regret and naphthalene

Another back turned on the open doorway

Fingers doused in iodine, alcohol, chlorine

Waiting for the pain to settle down, replay

.

Rusty crowbar flirting with the windowsill

These corroded wrists haven’t had their fill

Punctures arresting moments of a contrition

Skins embalmed, synthetic human condition

.

Swirling pastel watercolours and paint thinner

Interpreting artistic gashes, mixing all together

Cobalt strings, a neon glower of vermilion stars

Punishing priorities, daggers and guns on a war

.

Consuming traitor thiamine and betrayal’s booze

The reverse of a fraud, there’s nothing left to lose

A ventriloquist’s windpipe running out of oxygen

Nauseating disorientation, from a stagnant anacin

.

Lifelines tied to sycamore trees, carved ink indelible

But the oaths made by shedding blood can be soluble

Viscera in peril, executing a resentment due fortnight

I’m provoking hospital emergencies or flashing lights

.

Self-sabotage and mutual mutinies, fractured pinky promises

Wayward ethos revolting, a temper testament, trading curses

A compromised compulsion, haldol in hazardous momentum

Meaningless psychosis, mangled liar’s baptism in moratorium.

~*~

A fake, a fraud, forked tongue and I am nervous
At least I can say I made it out this time
I am just fine where you have left me
As for you be sure to cover up your mouth
I don’t know how to say this, my thoughts have just run out…

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metal & skin (xxv.)

funny, i think i’m bleeding out…

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metal & skin (xxiv.)

one cut

a weaker beginning, but you’re just starting

three cuts

that’s the charm, as searing pain is settling

five cuts

is that all you can take? is that all you can take?

seven cuts

how much, how much more can you make?

ten cuts

easy, over, and out, it’s like riding a bike now

fifteen cuts

it’s all a distant, tranquilising blur somehow

twenty cuts

you have reached your own personal record

twenty-two cuts

and went past it; dare you break the accord?

twenty-six cuts

it’s a complete mess of blood and medicine

thirty cuts

too numb to give a fuck, you ceased caring

thirty-three cuts

your arm’s as pale as your cotton blanket

thirty-eight cuts

maybe you’ve crossed the line, but screw it

forty cuts

so indulged, and you just can’t fucking stop

forty-four cuts

because you know it will never be enough

forty-nine cuts

for it’s not really the quantity that matters

fifty cuts

but just how fucking far you dare to go deeper.

fifty-one cuts and counting…

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