i don't do drugs, i just abuse myself

you know what started
the entire problem -
you never accepted me
as myself.
you painted portraits of me,
and made yourself believe
i was not the strung-out creature
you saw...
you refused to see me
as i was, scars and all
you pasted cover-up over
my wounds,
and fed me, built me up,
knowing all along
i was sure to fail.
when she pried me away
from you,
you just stood there, watching.
you knew all along;
i knew all along
i could never be your perfect girl.

trust me, there's nothing to believe.

my pain could do me in
or so could my blade.
two sharp jabs and long
draws up the arms
paralleling the veins.
bisecting the angry scratches
- my mutilated arms -
don't you think they're beautiful?
god
damn
fucking
beautiful?
call me selfish.
call me a poser.
i don't give a damn.

"happy"

i covered it all up
so i seemed "safe"
and if i'd had any idea
i would have tried deeper
harder
i would have been
perfectly sliced to pieces.

2 pills i took to keep from destroying myself

And i know this is fucked up
but now it's you i'm bleeding for
and if i were you i'd wear it like a badge.

romancing the blade

you're such a quiet companion
you only demand what i want to give
you need only what i desire
and i would give anything
to be alone with you now
we could let the blood out together
create beautiful slashes
colors i love...
red on white
i can almost feel the sweet agony
and i've gone for far too long,
ignoring your call,
my precious razor.

Liar*

i hold (or try) the twisted tissue
under my splayed, sticky fingers,
subcutaneously grasping
the slicksharp edge agony

sprawling in
a cemetery, waiting
for the flow
to slow
to walk back to my room, wrap
up in tight-tourniquet tape

have
no idea how
it happened, must have
accidentally hit
something, didn’t notice
when i did it
(god, that’s big)
at work, broken glass,
the cat scratched my arm…
scraped it
on the sharp metal trim
in my car, falling off. really.
i swear.





*also in my senior thesis. unlike many other poems also in my thesis, this went under extensive revision, whereas other ones i used mostly in their original state. i noticed while revising and re-revising my thesis, that it didn't seem to matter how old a poem was; some poems come out fully formed, and others start an idea that you later have to bring out of the original poem, and expound upon. no one hits perfection every time, especially without revision.

only just

i want to hold you
touch your hair, brush it
from your face
to see you,
knees drawn up in agony
i want to kiss your scarred arms
that took the blows for you
and hold you, in mine,
but
you don't know this exists,
that i can touch your secrets
from time to time,
and wipe your tears
as you sleep.

well

come on, then
say something
that doesn't sound like
you nearly choked
on the words.

you might

just a simple bloodshed argument.
a simple (ex) friendship
a lonely (half-)existence

i said you might have been the one
if only for a few different reasons.
and if my stomach didn't clench
when i saw you in the arms of another...
maybe then
maybe then i could lie
and say i was over it

repainting the pain

if it doesn't feel like a storm
a caked-on cherry mess -
a wristful of mental case -
i don't need a reason anymore -
i need to be alive, be here,
i need to feel pain to feel anything
i'm not sure i can feel anything else.

an intruder to your solace

i imagine that by the time you discover
what i have taken (many months later)
it will not matter that
i sought my broken pieces
left your refund money
and took them back...
i do not think you
could feel anything
but a rush of relief
one less thing to hear (feel)
consciously beating -
soft thumps that kept you awake at night.
you were too conscious of the trust
i once held in you
no. you will be all too glad to see them gone.

somehow

you've been gifted with the exactlyright way
of making me feel insignificant
stupid
(hardly worth the effort)

like bouncing off a wall

"forgive us, o life
the sin of Death"
- e.e. cummings



And forgive us, o death
the sin of life
blasphemous breath.

i can sleep when i'm dead

i was wrong after all...
i cannot give love
(since you will not take it)
but it remains, retreats
into my inner corners
shivers
(tries not to die of hypothermia.)

cut

don't tell me not to;
it's like sending me
to a psychiatrist
but instructing me
to remain
broken

they may think they belong there

we are always the weakest when
in bed with another
out comes the cute pajamas,
the designer lingerie,
or you act casual,
pretend not to care.
but anyone you invite inside
the covers
has the power to hurt you,
worse than any other possibly could.
those who know the feel of your
sleep-flushed skin
has the power to destroy you
with a glance,
one disparaging look,
a snide remark
any common mutter
can ruin you.

control, part 3

you hate so strongly
it's almost like an orgasm -
turning my world on end
and rasping away at
my nerve endings
you try to blunt me
erase who i am to
fulfill your mental picture
(i am not the one
you wanted and i
NEVER WILL BE)
of the devoted girl
who will trail your every move
like a puppy.
you would erase me
if you could,
find some other girl
to place on a pedestal
i know this.
i was not your
perfectly planned princess
veni vidi vici
you came too late
to get rid of my evidence
i'm sure you love me now,
or at least think
you do.
but if there had been a way
to replace me
not a heartbeat would go by
before you would.
do not lie to me.
do not lie to me.
i know.

don't worry, really.

apathy invaded by blood, replaced by tears
the pain, blade, sharp dull everlasting ache.
what does your self-help manual have to say?
dirty habit dirty
smells like death
eats me alive
running candy licked off,
cherry red
enough for my pages, my public
my every whim and desire.
go ahead and put the filthy SHIT all over your face.

- and oh you smiled -

so hard i thought i would break in half -
a pure joy smile.
stretch your happiness - light up your eyes when i came in the room -
was it all a lie?
waste of time trying to gather my strength?
you have no idea of the letdown -
in the after hours
spent and shaking -
you are/were my heroin.

say what you mean

i've been putting up curtains today
they're rather sheer
and i've become tangled in their gossamer
the threads raveling and pulling at my ankles
whispering thoughts i never wanted
and words i can't explain.
i've drawn a thousand lines
and you've refused to cross them
scared of stepping in too deep
shallow water still holds that sting
the fear of drowning in emotions too strong to control.
you find irony in the strangest places.
if you happen to figure out, on the way
the meaning to life and why it is...
well, you know. i've said it a thousand times.
tried to fix the broken pieces...ruined...
well how could i have been so arrogant
to think it would actually work?