teetering over the edge of insanity

hold me and make me forget.
kiss me until
you kill me.
i will never complain
that you didn't love me.
your only sin was
loving me too much,
and that my dear,
is simply unforgiveable.

control, part 2

i can't believe your eyes,
words bleeding out the sides,
your blood telling
the stories, seldom heard.
i would devour her knowledge,
she glances back at me
and turns.
the light tonight
has fallen, we stand
in twilight
remembering days gone by
before our bleeding
was known, before
he inspected my wrists,
daily.

i loved you...

and all i wanted was a small piece no
a sliver of your life a small razor cut
piece

scratch the surface

will you come to see me grieving,
chiseled
into the grey marble exterior?
call me sick
but i've had dreams,
ingesting myself, another's blood
as if it were natural
unaware of pain and
only drowning enough to find
that i could no longer
be satisfied
with a blade.
there are sharper things
to slit oneself with.

opaque

stuck to the ceiling tonight.
i'd shoot myself to create
the masterpiece, emulsified in
careful preparation...
mummification
so you can see this exact change
spilling from my hands hitting
the floor, gun slid down.

reasons

i don't know, myself.
i felt the need.
a mental anorexia i
cannot control,
nothing but myself, my blade.

cut again.
guilty.
habit.
cut again.
i love you.
i hate myself.

control

i said nothing.
wore nothing to upset you,
smiled,
when you asked me to.
but what is good enough for you?

i am not your perfect model;
i wish i was.
sculpted and ragged in the wind,
dainty rivulets of blood.
no real model
owns x-actos
and scars.

for whisper

it's okay. i tried it on but it didn't seem to fit. (suicide)

sometimes i astound myself

walking towards me, you turned
and faced the skyline.
i cannot comprehend
the stars bending to meet me,
scraping themselves low, yet
in the darkness creeping before me,
i noticed your hair,
gleaming bright.
it struck the moonlight
and send shards
scattering into my heart.

DIE

i want you to.
nothing could be sweeter than
your face on the ground,
your blood on my shoes,
splattered upon my face
and running from my nails.
hate is not word enough
to hold this rage.
i can spill it out
in simple phrases
filled with malice and scorn:
listen carefully.

she asks me not to*

someone make me laugh,
quiver with suppressed hilarity.
i spend too much time
staring at a blade
and my impenetrable skin.









*actually made its way into my B.A. thesis. and a piece of artwork. i don't know why i like this one so much, there isn't much of a rational reason; more like memory association.

forgotten things

could i slit myself
and pour out onto these pages
until i didn't exist,
and would the paper
hold me?

oh let me lie here

leave me dark and dead
alone with restless creature habits
you think i've destroyed in myself.
you are wrong, happily so
you would prefer to imagine me
leaning against this wall
confidently rather than
crouched in the corner of it,
slicing with razorblades at
skin long since dead.
keep your delusions;
i know the bloody truth.

expiration

you know it's time to leave
when you hit that dead, still silence
all you can do is look at him
and smile, regretfully.
you can always tell it's over,
but people in love
try so hard not to live in reality.

a vampire complex

i couldn't stand to be like her,
so i ripped at myself,
cutting to scar myself
and stain myself alive.
she did the same and
how i cried -
damn this mirror;
i don't want a reflection.

touch me?

i was thumbing through some memories yesterday, everything i've ever done and seen. there were so many pages of misdirected hate, wrongful love, doomed-to-fail relationships. and buried in a rust-colored box the gently fading memories of wrongful lust, groping hands, my childhood fear of discovery. i look back and think that maybe i can forgive him, but it will be so long until i forget. for the memory, however dark, sparkles as if it were yesterday, even hidden in the murky depths of my heart. hands are so beautiful but i'm scared of men's hands.

blood

here - don't you feel my thoughts pounding? they are running through my veins. not ice for blood, as some may believe, but words, tumbling around in the curved walls and waiting to spill out from the first rent or tear in my fragile skin. i thrive on these life-giving words - i depend upon the harsh irregular and sweet soft words, vying for attention. so don't tell me you can read my head like an open book, cracking my vessels open and tasting the sweet salty marrow of my bitter words and abashed feelings. you'd not want my forceful opinion spilling out like my life's blood - impossible to put back in. keep your own delusions - pounding through your temples and heating your body with the fury they provoke.

as you pour your rainclouds onto my head

for once ( and i do think that i've been fair)
i want you down before me.
i'll use you as you would me -
if you were to get the chance.
i do shake violently at your memory -
i could not sleep and i just
want to know if i'm going to hurt forever -
a flaring pain - if you touch my wound
and i'm sure, being you
you'll bring salt.