I wear my heart on my sleeves.
As in the cuts that bleed.
Where everyone can see that I´m damaged.
How I´m broken,
ruined,
to pieces.
One can never fully recover.
As my cuts turn to scars,
my sleeves will still,
never be the same.
As the same for my heart.

It's healing
But it leaves a mark
A scar that reminds me
How weak I've become

Hide everything.
Words, Thoughts.
Feelings, Cuts.
Good thoughts are spoken.
Bad thoughts are thought.
Letters written,
Emotions bestowed.
Never show,
Never tell.
Hide my poetry,
No one needs to know how I feel.

i am not strong.
when people see my scars,
they think
that i crawled out of hell
even when demons
were dragging me down.
i barely made it out, though,
and those demons are still with me.
they are still present
in the scars on my thighs,
the pills that i take,
the nights i can't sleep
and nothing feels right
because,
really,
that hell was inside my head
and the demons
were my own thoughts,
ripping
and tearing
and pulling away at my sanity,
bit
by bit.
i am not strong,
but i'm strong enough
to keep fighting those demons,
every
single
day.

she kept looking and changing clothes
clothes that can cover the scars of her friend
friends that is always there when she need someone

a sharp metal thing, that she uses to cut her body
a pair of hand, that she uses to slap and punch
a match, that she uses to feel the heat

the friends, that always leaves mark
so she can remember that she always have a bestfriend who will always be there for her

the blood,
the bruises,
the burn mark

that three,
are the reminder of her bestfriend's existence

Like a child, I am eagerly waiting.
My knee shakes frantically in anticipation.
I sit excitedly in the water,
A smile plastered on my face,
Mouth watering.
Am I scared?
Of course?
Would you not be?
But despite my fear,
I look joyously down and the hard metal
A salty droplet rolls down my cheek.
I am scared,
But I am ready.
I take a deep breath,
I let go,
And I...

I walk this empty street
And I can't help but wonder
Why it has to hurt so much
The pain of being alive
And I'll make another cut
Bleed in another ditch
But lastly
I'll think of you
With your warm voice
And your cold heart
And believe me
I can't wait to see you again