I need to cut again
I need to slice up my body until
you can't see the flaws
I need to do it.
I feel like a drug addict,
I'm suffering withdrawal.
I need to see blood leak from
It's funny how much damage
a few lines can cause.
Isn't that what letters are,
just little lines?
If they are, then
lines is what destroyed me,
and lines is what rebuilds me.
If this seems too graphic,
If so, then
take a look at statistics,
because, of suicide,
the victims becoming more and more.
How to rebuild
the fragile trust of my parents
to convince me to stop
before I go too deep?
When the closest friends can't stop me,
how can anyone else?
Why can't I force my miserable brain to
understand the consequences?
My parents have the mistaken impression that
taking everything out of my room,
cutting me off from my friends,
will save me.
But what would really save me
is a child confidant,
not some professional writing everything I say down.
I have the right to remain silent,
because everything I say can and will be used against me.
It's not just
in a court of law.
It's in me.
What do I need?
If only I knew.
Let me go...
I need someone else to be there.
I cannot stand on my own.
I have not lived my life yet.
They all say I am too young.
I try to steal bits of freedom
Try to be myself.
But they push me down again,
And my soul is trapped by lies.
I need to be myself.
I need to be free.
I need to express myself
In whatever way I need.
I need support from those I love
Not the outcast words I know.
I will do the “impossible”.
I need you to let me go.
I need a bath like a pregnant lady needs pickles at 2 a.m.
I don't need one of those cozy, long baths filled with bubbles and soft music.
I need the kind of bath that is so hot, it leaves me sweating out three years of regret, and brings me to the point of an exhaustion so all-encompassing that I sleep for twelve hours straight.
I need a bath so scalding that I will relish zero below, and be left reminiscing about summers that I thought were hot before that bath.
I need a bath that will make my blood boil and my skin ruby-red-hot.
I need a bath to leave all others behind- the kind that I will tell my grandchildren about, should I survive.
I need a bath that is hell-fire and damnation to the point that I come out fresh as a kitten, repentant of all the hell-fire I have dished out.
I need a bath that will leave me begging for the Sahara- the kind that will give me a heat stroke so hefty, I will miss simple dehydration.
I need a bath.
What do I need? I need to be noticed. Wiped out of the fog. Cleared out of the haze. Standing in the middle of the room covered in colors, but filled with shadows. Dancing to a song that makes you laugh and that makes you cry. A solo dancer, a spotlight shining on herself, telling a story though the movements. Alone on a stage. Moving through what needs to be expressed. For everyone to turn, to look, to notice. You see the plastered face, but that is covering what is underneath. The abstract, dazed, dark and light mixutre of mud and bubbles, fizzing down the long, peeling neck filled with lipstick stains and infected cuts. The body with frail fingers, a strong core, but green phlem seeping from it’s stomach. A heart green with envy and red with affection. Yellow with content, but black with complication. Pink with care, but purple with obsession. The figure dancing, perfectly complicated but far from complete. An utter mess, and a perfect composition mushed together, abstractly organized. A beautiful disaster.