Cupcake828

My hunger for pain is unquenched. For long have I unknowingly craved the sharpness to cut myself wide open. Baring the fiery passion that has kept me alive in the darkness. The red finds its way to the surface as the silver relieves my soul from its torment. The skin splits, sorrow spilling over the sides.

It's a blade on the wrist It's a sick, never ending twist It's life after death It's living in a mess It's hiding from all you know Put the blade to your wrist and pull the trigger Let the blood flow to the ground Let it cover you as you sit there in silence Let this be the last cut But who are you to do this to yourself? Who am I to do this to myself? I feel I do deserve this I know I do deserve worse I will try to die I will try to die I will cut myselfdry It's a secret in your own It's a bloodless, lusting game It's dying every day It's a lonely masquarade I ought to put the blade to my wrist and pull the trigger Letti

Can't you see the scars? Can't you see the marks? Pictures, patterns, words unite, They travel up my arm. Can't you see the kitchen knifes? Can't you see the razors? I carry in my strife. They create these precious, Pictures, patterns, words, That travel up my arm. Can't you hear your words? Can't you hear your mumbles? That tumble from your mouth. These the words, That take the thoughts from my mind, And make them travel, Up my arms. Can't you see your dirty looks? Dirty looks? I'll wash them clean, Gouge the vains from porcelian skin, Leaving marks, That travel up my arm. Can't you feel the agony, The agony? Agony t

Why Do You Do It? Leaving Those Scars There, With Every Single Slit, On Your Skin So Bare. Does It Make You Feel Good? Something That Makes You Smile, Would You Stop If You Could? Or Live The Rest Of Your Life In Denial. Do You Wish To Forget Those Times? Does It Remind You Of Times To Reminise On? With Every New Slit Creating New Lines, Always There Never To Soon Be Gone! Surely You Must Hate That Reminder, When You Did That All That Self Pain, Everyday You Become More Blinder, With Nothing More To Ever Gain. Are You Suffering In Silence Alone? Or Just Scared People Will Think Less? There's Ways To Stop, You Need To Be Show

My thighs were first. Then my wrists. And shoulders. And fingers. And feet. Everything. Ripped out at the seams. I ripped them out myself, if only to avoid giving others the pleasure. I ripped them out hard, if only to teach myself a lesson: I deserved it. I ripped them out and all the while I sang to myself, unable to cry or scream for fear that it would make the pain less real. I joked about them. I laughed about them. I smiled about them, calling myself "the stupid emo kid" and believing it was true. It was true. To me. I deserved it. I needed it. I craved it. I wanted it. I breathed it. I worshipped i

Criss-cross, Cut and Slash Blood drips falling, Splash, Splash Wounds heal but scars remain Errors of Past is their Domain Jigged and Jagged some Wounds don't Heal It takes nightmares and makes them Real These scars will never disappear People that shed too many Tears Ricketty, Ricketty your mind goes numb Stupidity is always dumb Never fun at other's Expense Never fun when there is Pain you can't Sense Slash and Jagged all Ricketty when will it end Nothing is good if you're Dead in the End.

I cut myself to make me bleed, To try and take away some of the pain Of this bittersweet life that I lead, Dull the ache, deep within my brain. I'm not really sure I want to die, Its merely a way to deal with my inner being. As hard as I want to break down and cry, The tears wont come, and I end up retreating. Back to my silence, my thoughts, my dreams, Wishing everything was as perfect as it seems. ~me

agony rushes through her veins pulsing through her soul how long until she can let this all go? she longs for the day when silver meets crimson no more and the day when she throws the razor out the door because when she locks herself in the bathroom bleeding, crying, living in her gloom, she realizes she's a statistic; a fact 'how many teen cutters?' and others like that she wants to put the knife down, why can't they understand? that every time grief hits her it winds up in her hand she knows it could be dangerous fatal, even, to some but she still sits there, feeling glum even though she knows so many have it so much worse