[x]

I'm clean!I don't cut anymore!
Because I'm checked every night.
I don't even glance at sharp things!
Because my razor was taken away.

I'm sober!
Because there's a lock on the liquor cabinet.
I don't even ask for a taste!
Because I'm not allowed in bars.

I'm off the medication!
Because it was hidden somewhere.
I don't even think about overdose!
Because I'm on antidepressants.

I don't bash my head into the wall!
Because there's a camera in my room.
The blood stains are faded!
Because a professional was hired to get the walls and floor clean.

I don't have suicidal thoughts anymore!
Because I'm on happypills.
I don't even try to kill myse

'Happy'You can look over at me,
And see me smiling.
I laugh,
But I'm really dying.

Being a source of entertainment.
I've tried to escape this before,
All I am is a puppet,
And I don't want that anymore.

I'm here to see you smile,
And to make you happy.
That's the only reason I'm still here now,
I thought you had saved me.

I was wrong; I don't matter, not to you
You don't get it's just a show.
That all this smiling is an act,
At least, You'll never know.

I'm keeping this from you,
For your own safety.
I'll keep hiding,
What's going on inside me.

Because you seem to think it's my job,
To make you happy.
You'd all fall apart,
Without something to

You Pushed MeIt's bad enough then,
When they say,

"Stupid."
"Idiot!"
"You'll never be anything!"
"You're worthless!"
"Fucking gay!"
"You cut yourself for fun!"
"White trash..."
"You're disgusting, get away from me!"
"You've been nothing but a dissapointment."
"Look at what you've done!"
"You're so ugly!"
"Wannabe!"
"Such a failure."
"Ugh, freak!"
"No one likes you, get away!"
"If you want to kill yourself so badly, then just do it!"

Just because we're not normal, doesn't mean we're not people.
Just because we're not like them we're exempt.
Just because we're not perfect,
That's what pushed us to a suicide attempt.
It seems to me, tha

GoneI've chosen the gun.
I gently take the bullets from my hand.
I kiss each one.
There are two.
For reassurance.
I'm about to go through.
I decide to put it to my head.
Cliche, I know,
But it won't matter when I'm dead.
I count to three.
I pull the trigger.
No more me.
Cause I'm gone!

I've chosen the rope.
I knot it carefully.
I've lost all hope.
I make sure it's tight.
I hang it from the fan.
I turn off the fan lights.
The chair is pulled from my desk.
I position it just so.
The rope fits snuggly around my neck.
One foot is hanging in the air.
Now there are two,
Dangling there.
Cause I'm finally gone!

I've chosen the knife.
A five-inch on

Talking to the airI'm hearing you speak,
While you pull your fingers through my hair.

I'm looking into your eyes,
And you dont mind I'm telling you more than you can bear.

I'm feeling the emotions,
pouring out of my sides.

While you sit there quietly listening,
Because there's nothing we can hide.

....Wait. Let's try this again.

I'm hearing you speak,
But the voice is empty, no one is there.

I'm looking into your eyes,
but I'm staring into thin air.

I'm feeling the emotions,
But everything I say is a hollow line.

While you sit there quietly listening.....
Because you're only mine.

.....Now, let's continure.

While I'm talking into space,
I'l

TruthHow do you see me?
The way I give myself off?
The way I wish I could be?

The person is different,
They aren't me.
Maybe this, is what you see:

A girl obsessed with killing and gore,
Integrating herself with psychos,
A girl who's looking for blood, more and more;

A girl who enjoys creepy people out,
Smiling and threatening slow painful deaths,
Being loud, just to scream and shout;

A girl who wants horror and chills,
Watching gorey R-rated movies,
Just to give herself thrills;

A girl who takes violent music literally,
And uses them for future inspiration....
But that's not me. I'm sorry.

Let's revise that, the person you know,
To the litt

The Silent GameHate me?
I don't care.
Not anymore.
We're not what we used to be.

Don't want to talk?
Fine.
Let's play the silent game.
I'll cut you off.

Don't care what happens to me?
Good.
I don't either.
Neither of us can see.

Having fun yet?
I'm not.
I'll prented I miss you
What is it that you don't get?

Happy now?
I sure hope not.
I'll deny the past.
To fix this, I don't know how.

I'm dead to you?
Ha!
Good one.
Then you don't care what I'm going to do.

I'm unheard?
No surprise,
no shocker there, not
That's absurd!

Just don't care anymore?
Want me gone.
That's nice,
There's the door.

You can drift farther away,
So far,
I can't see you,
Can't he

Wash It All AwayStand there dripping onto the floor,
Stand there praying to God some more,
Stand there waiting for the blood to stop,
Standing still when you think that its not.
You hope it won't.

Grab the back of a paper which used for a poem you wrote,
Grab the dull pencil to write a quick note,
Grab on to the hope and half-sadness that you won't need it to say goodbye to all
Grabbing onto the door handle when you slip and fall.
Slipping in your own blood.

Throw the paper off the desk,
Throw the bloody towels into the trash to clean up the mess,
Throw the door open with strength on the brink,
Throw the reddened razor into the sink.
Throwing it so hard

Self-induced IllGetting better, by being sick.
Dreadful pain I'm smiling through,
Though my sickness comes from every sip, handful, nick.

This illness won't leave me alone.
It doesn't matter what I do,
So I'll sit here and wait, and turn to stone.

That's not right, I'm not pale
It's what I've been drinking,
The vodka, rum, and ale.

My stomach hurts, but I don't have the flu
I swallowed some pills,
To do away with the pain I'm going through.

The wristbands are there,
Not because they're stylish,
But to hide to ghe cuts and scars, but who cares?

I'm choking, I can't breathe
Because my hands are around my neck,
And I can't see.

I say I'm tired, that I can

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Sequel: the Tale of Midnightslash RuharaI shall write about happiness
And stories that make you cry
I shall write—and keep on writing
Until the day the world dies.
Here is the story
Not quite so gory
As it's predecessor
But about when King Lionfeather met Blacknight's son,
Because you know
And have already seen
Stories are always far from done.
In the Court upon the hidden isle where we left our hero, where adventures stretch far and wide but not too far from home, King Lionfeather ruled his subjects fair. Every meal was a feast, every hunt called for a celebration, every cat in his own time. King Lionfeather ruled upon his golden throne, and thrust chivalry and h

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Submitted: February 17
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Scars tell Stories

by ~Freezingsteelmurder, Feb 17, 2013, 6:19:41 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

Perfectly parrallel.
All in a line.
Bleeding ever-so-slightly
This is not mine.

Slashing across memories.
Down close to my knee, they go that far.
Slanting and flowing.
These are my scars.

Some mean-spirited words.
The things the mean girls say.
Yes, these are scars too
But not my way.

Looking sadly in a mirror.
Breaking the glass.
You were the last one to talk to your suicidal friend.
Maybe this breaking too, is your last.

Scars are anything.
Any which way.
There's something unique about every one
The stories they have to say.

You have an illness.
A fatal disease.
Something killing you slowly from the inside.
Scars don't have to be like what's on me.

Mine, you ask?
Being beaten everynight.
Sneaking through the halls
With my tormentors, to hear my step-parents fight.
Being raped and harrassed.
Bullied into submission.
Trying to reach the front door
But I'm too tied up, I keep missing.
Hating myself.
Cutting deep into my skin.
Disgusted at my appearance
Disgusted at hiding within.
Calling myself names.
Screaming at my reflection.
Tying the rope,
Cause I'm finally done.

Scars aren't just thin white lines roughing your skin.
They aren't those stab-marks either, smoothed over so nice.
They aren't just physical
Or breaking a personal vice.
They can be mental too.
From years of abuse.
From drinking, and smoking
And present misuse.
From taking drugs,
And locking it all up.
From staring at what pills are left
At the bottom of a cup.
They're all different.
So are we.
But if you've got scars too,
We can all say, 'You've expierenced what it's like to be me.'

Scars tell Storiesby ~Freezingsteelmurder

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

each scar has a different story. yours are different, so are mine. physical and mental, they can be both.
this goes to show that.

im sorry this isnt the best...im tired and hungry and bored

~chancerox Feb 19, 2013 Hobbyist Digital Artist

this is beautiful and so true. you're talented

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