I Don't Care if I Die

Hello darkness, my old friend.

It’s been a while, but I’ve come back to see you again.

I wanted to tell you: I don’t care whether I live or I die,

But I don’t want to be the direct fault of my own demise.

Can you help me with this, my long lost friend?

Just please bring this darkness to an irrefutable end.

I know a Girl

I know a girl,

with pain in her eyes

and sorrow in her soul

and regret in every fiber of her being.

I know a girl,

a very lovely girl

who hides much beneath

and no one ever notices.

I know a girl

with a shattered smile

with melancholy laughter on her lips

with scars on her soft, impressionable wrists

with doubt plastered upon her flawless brow.

I know a girl

who is “okay”

who is “fine”

who is just tired of this life.

I know a girl who is broken.

I love this girl who is falling apart. 

I know a girl I want to fix.

The Paintbrush

She reaches for her paintbrush, it’s time again to paint.

She holds it close to her canvas, not using any restraint,

All the while keeping her expression quite quaint.

This painting shall be her finest, her most magnificent vignette.

She paints in crimson red, lustfully meticulous as if outlining her silhouette.

This final piece she will fail to ever regret. 

Almost now complete, she paints her last stroke.

She saves the best for last, as her finale can all but be revoke.

But now comes a twist you won’t believe, as if it were a gruesome joke.

She painted a gorgeous picture upon a canvas, you see?

But her brush was but a blade, her canvas but the wrist of she.

The crimson paint she used was but her liquid life she wished to free.

But now her lovely painting fades,

For her arm holds no more blood to keep it vivid in shades.

Forevermore, she continues to fade ‘til nothing else remains.

But now, you see, there is but one more twist.

For her mind was really the razor

And her heart was but her wrist.

I sulk. I sit. I wait.

I sulk. I sit. I wait.

For a day without pain, without regret, without  fear.

For the day when I am no longer isolated within in my own mind.

For that day when my war has been won.

I sulk. I sit. I wait. 

I hope to one day greet this day, for my bleeding heart yearns for this reunion.

The day has still yet to show, and my strength is growing thin.

I sulk. I sit. I wait.

This hope I still hold looks an awful lot like fear. 

                                        When will this day come?

For it looks like that day to never come.

I sulk. I sit. I wait.

For I realize that day is not too far away. 

It's Funny, Isn't It?

It's funny isn't it

How effortlessly one can take a blade

Run it across their skin

Puncture the very thing that keeps them whole

Over and over again 

Until all pain is gone

  Until all the blood is drained

               Until they are numb

                             Until the next time.

It's funny how such a simple action can become

         a dangerous addition

                     A ravenous craving

    An unconscious compulsion;

                                                                                                                 An addiction not easily overcome.

It's funny how such a simple act on oneself can hurt so many others

Cause so much pain to their friends

                To their boyfriend or girlfriend

                                                                                To their family.

It's funny how all of the pain it releases is brought back

not long afterwards.

Funny isn't it.

But I ask,

Is all of this worth it?

They say no.

I say…

I'm sorry.

That Feeling...

That feeling of wanting despite not needing;

That feeling of endless, agonizing pain despite efforts to heal;

That feeling of pure emptiness despite being physically whole;

That feeling of loneliness despite being surrounded by others;

That feeling  of shame despite no one knowing what you’ve done to yourself;

That feeling of hopelessness despite knowing it will get better;

That feeling of weakness despite the eternal  determination;

That feeling of uncertainty despite knowing exactly what’s wrong;

That feeling that's illogically logical. 

Bleeding

Tears rain down, staining my shirt a crimson red.

Like a waterfall of agony, it drowns me.

I lay silently, suffering in my bed.

The tears won’t clot, I’m lost in my ruby sea.

Each burgundy tear slides down my pale frame,

Causing my skins subtle twitching.

It Gets Brighter

Reaching out, arm extended
I open the up curtain.
The light temporarily blinds me as I turn away.

But I look back and see all that lay outside in the sun.

Unwanted Hope

Through the darkness I search for a flicker.

In the distance, I see a faint sliver of light.

I turn around.

Trapped In My Addiction

Hope has found me but I won’t let it in.

I’ve shut my windows and locked my doors.

I’ve trapped myself in my own mind, no escape.

And now I’m running out of air.

I hold my breath,

I like the darkness.

Addicted To The Sadness

Addicted to the sadness,

I am chasing the darkness

As the silence screams.

In search of precious pain,

My beaten heart thirsts to gain

failure.

Lost in my own misery,

I have forgotten how senseless death, 

How precious life.

You fail to see my passion snapping,

As I smile at your command.

Dead inside already,

I am empty and unsteady.

You see what I show,

But no one shall really know

What thoughts I conceive,

Nor what feelings I possess.

For if you really knew,

You’d be in tears.