styrofoam cups
I want to cut so much deeper
life is a blur
of lights and sounds
distorted by
tunnel vision and
sound proof glass
DISSOCIATION
I need to cut so much deeper
what’s the fucking point
running around
one place to the other
aimlessly and
without purpose
NIHILISM
I will cut so much deeper
when the blood pools
around my feet
I can see again
the purpose to live
to teeter on the edge of death
BLEEDING
39 notes
·
View notes
the call of addiction
hello again, my old friend
doctor bloodletter
simply so wrong
how long it’s been since you’ve heard my swan song
I truly never wished to say goodbye
your siren’s call I cannot ignore
aspirations and dreams to reify
a waking nightmare screaming for gore
I’ve ran away so many times
always to fall beneath the tides
drowning until you swam to me
you are my lifesaver
my muse and my savior
angels are not found in heaven
but in a box of straight razors
yearning for blood
16 notes
·
View notes
inescapable ending
everywhere I see faces screaming
into the void, with me, without me
an open, gnashing, masticating maw
ready to consume everything and all
envelope me in those teeth
rid me of life, abhorrent
experience divinity within the void
better than years more of torment
bring me this sweet ending
the inevitability of the grave
beckoning me forthwith
I am not brave for living
but a coward for dying
praying that you may be
strong enough to visit my tomb
with me, without me
scared to live yet scared to die
with the burning desire to be sacrificed
to have this ego ripped from flesh
ascend my soul, with me, without me
3 notes
·
View notes
self-hatred
I’ve committed treason
let myself and loved ones down
with no discernable reason
these intrusive thoughts
decided to breeze in
these hateful thoughts in my head are horrifying
filled to the brim with gruesome visages of me dying
and I can’t bring myself to start trying
even the slightest bit of internal purifying
slices up and down my arm
an ocean of blood on the ground
self hatred can’t be disarmed
but is turned inside out
and manifests as self-harm
all energy devoted to falsifying
the hope of getting better or validating
anything and everything I am is agitating
existence is utterly unsatisfying
3 notes
·
View notes
sensing death
bleeding out
feel the blood fall
ending drought
hear the pitter-patter of rain pouring
down this spout
see the red overtake it all
everything I’m now without
smell the iron of death I’m adoring
life begins to fadeout
the end
I can almost taste it
11 notes
·
View notes
blood dance
come dance with me
in the streets ablaze
we’ll bleed out our veins
everyone else is unphased
come, gather ‘round
let’s make a pool
fill it with our blood
and we’ll bleed out like fools
18 notes
·
View notes
BREATHE IN
this miasma of perpetuity
suffocate in banality
scrambling for solid ground
only to fall beneath the sound
BREATHE OUT
windpipe collapsing
beneath this oppressive boot
lungs only gasping
death becomes absolute
RESPIRE
or drown
8 notes
·
View notes
too much blood
once a shovel breaks ground
you have to dig a hole
a brush makes contact with canvas
only to birth art
the pen touches paper
to write down it all
but the blade tears open skin
to destroy a fresh start
cut one brings pain
cut five burns and stings
cut ten feels euphoric
I convince myself that there’s something to gain
cut twenty, I lose control
cut thirty, a pool is at my feet
cut fifty, the razor runs out of sharp sides
at rock bottom, there’s no farther to fall
cut seventy, the bleeding stops
stemming from the road map of solid blood on my wrists
cold stalactites hang from my arm
made of clot and elastic like rubber
“rip off the clots”
the voice says
“return the flow of blood”
what am I to do but obey?
anything to silence the voices
anything to keep the bleeding
64 notes
·
View notes
fucking kill me
it would appear:
some of the cuts on my arm are quite deep
but I know:
all of my cuts should’ve gone deeper
30 notes
·
View notes
ideation
take in the wrong breath of fresh air
or maybe the sunshine falls at just the worst angle
the blade calls to be returned to the flesh
a firestorm of quiet circumstances
a supreme feeling of abandonment
to be tossed aside and discarded
left alone to rot before death
anguish turned inward: a conduit for scars
everyday is filled with the tock of a ticking clock
counting down the minutes until the end
when will it be when the blade cuts too deep
severs one of the storm clouds in my arm?
sixty slices later and the answer is no closer
all I see now is another rainstorm of blood
another puddle to be wiped up and cleaned away
to be replaced once again another day
6 notes
·
View notes
when it rains, it pours
my life is an accumulation of twenty uniquely portioned threads
all pulled to different degrees of tautness
all coming to a specific predisposed distance
that I am not allowed to know
personal growth is when all threads are simultaneously pulled to exhaustion
and kept there for eternity
but if my grip slips
and one string falls
it will cause an avalanche when I try to grab it
and another string will fall between my grasp
and then another
and that will destroy me
and set me back to ground zero
broken as ever
0 notes
irreconcilable rage
when the anger takes its hold
I can’t see past the red fog
no inhibitions to stop me
from banging my head
from punching the wall
from breaking something
from screaming so loud it hurts
when the anger takes its hold
I don’t feel the pain
or see the blood dripping
from cracking my knuckles
over a freshly punched hole in the wall
from the self-inflicted bruises
on my skull
once the anger takes its hold
something--someone--else takes over my body
and I can’t stop myself
from creating immense chaos
until reality washes over me
like a flood in the desert
and fills my eyes with tears
and fills my heart with grief
so heavy, the weight in my chest
I just need this to stop
8 notes
·
View notes
carousel
is it recovery if
improvement is coupled
with relapse
every two weeks?
is it recovery if
I replaced the stinging pain
on my wrist
for the pain
of an empty stomach?
tit for tat
eye for an eye
starvation for cutting
one cut for the anger I felt
one cut for eating
one cut for feeling tempted
and another for succumbing
my perseverance is dependent
on whether
I can resist the temptation
of self-harm
by performing a different version
of self-harm
one cut for thinking I could get better
one cut for starving myself
one cut for trying to recover
and another thirty for failing
is it recovery once
the razor hits the floor
drowns in a pool of blood
gets cleaned up
and thrown away?
is it recovery once
the voices in my head
stop shouting
and demanding
for my inevitable end?
9 notes
·
View notes
empty
breakfast is a large
cold
glass of water that slowly falls
down
the throat and settles in the
stomach.
it cools the bones and chills the
nerves
lunch is a mug of
hot
tea methodically sipped to fill
up.
the soothing warmness coats the
gut,
stimulates the blood, and mellows the
nerves
cold to resist the hunger
hot to satiate it
weight loss is a goal
starvation is a means to an end
I need to see my bones
and the fat must go
what do you do to exhibit control?
20 notes
·
View notes
relapse
zero hours since cutting
the guilt
the shame
how the FUCK did I let this happen again...
...
I hate feeling like this
I just want to die
twenty-four hours since cutting
I can’t do this alone
so I’m reaching out to a friend
they don’t get mad
they aren’t angry
they reassure me
they help me
they give me tips to help heal the brain
seventy-two hours since cutting
I’m writing self-affirmations
I’m complimenting myself in the mirror
and for half a second, I almost believe myself
I took the time to clean my apartment
I’m setting goals
one-hundred and twenty hours since cutting
everyday
is another reason
to celebrate
another
twenty-four hours
alive
one-hundred and sixty-six hours since cutting
SLICE IT OPEN
CUT
RELEASE THE BLOOD
CUT
WHAT’S THE FUCKING POINT IN RESISTING
JUST FUCKING CUT ALREADY
YOU’RE NOT WORTH ENOUGH TO RECOVER CUT!
zero hours since cutting
...
...
...
oh, how I’ve missed this sadness
9 notes
·
View notes
a brief vacation
remission makes it feverish
addiction abhors hiatus
respite from slicing open skin
makes the desire obsessive
every success is paired with
burgeoning needs to cut again
with time, wounds will close up and heal
compelling them to be restored
breaks always end; self-harm resumes
the cuts become lacerations
what once dripped now oozes and pours
blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood
6 notes
·
View notes
hedonism
I need it
blade in hand
I need it
pressed to the skin
I need it
slowly at first
I need it
the sting of the first slice
I need it
cut faster
I need it
eyes seeing red
I need it
keep going
I need it
more blood
I need it
it’s never enough
drip
drip
drip, drip
drip
drip, drip, drip
a need fulfilled with a heart left vacant
76 notes
·
View notes