The word slips from my lips like a snake from a crack, oily and slippery, ready to attack. Springing up from nowhere widening my eyes, gasping for breath, gripping at my thighs. (I HATE SNAKES THIS PICTURES DISTURBS ME EW) (One poem)
"Generalized Anxiety" is what the doctor said. I can't get my shaking breath and quaking limbs out of my head. (Second poem)
Broken shattered cracked a mess a mentally fucked psychopath at best (Poem 3)
A polar plunge in a pacific sea
I'm begging you brain, shut up give me peace
You've wrapped me in white, a straight-jacket of snow
Numbing my feelings and making me cold (Poem 4)
Snip, snip, snippity snap
The sound that paper skin makes
Relieving some, granting feeling to others
As we lie in a numb wake, watching
ever-growing numbers (poem...6 I think?)
Cracking my bones, palms covered in sweat, heat flashes like thunder, I can't take a breath. (7)
I stood in silence, watching the clock.
Then hung the cord
And tied the knot.
'My skin is thin like paper. So fragile, so easy to cut. And the ink that rises from the slits smells as sweet as the sensation was.' (This was a tough one to re-read, hope ya'll are having a good day.)
My skin, like their's, is thin like paper, each insult burning in. But even throwing away my lunches doesn't fix the uneasy spin. (Poem 8)
"So sad was I on April day, that I decided to wash away." -Moonstone (Poem nine)
Silence. We granted it.
Silence. We granted it. Pain?
Silence. We granted it. Pain? We handled it.
Silence. We granted it. Pain? We handled it. Flowers of poison?
Silence. We granted it. Pain? We handled it. Flowers of poison? So many we grew.
Death till we part?
That's rather old news.
CUTTING IS NOT THE ONLY FORM OF SELF HARM PEOPLE, AND SELF HARM DOESN'T AUTOMATICALLY MEAN SUICIDE, BUT PLEASE. GET. HELP! Please... talk to someone. Don't pull an Pluma, please.