My heart goes to the people out their,
                                                            who write their pain on their skin.
This goes out to the addicts,
                                                 The people who starve to be pretty.
This goes out to the victims,
                                                 Who need to hear that it isn't their fault it never was and never will be.

I write my pain on my body,
                                               Reopen the scars of the past,
                              It hurts to think, breath, write, wake up.
                                       Why does it hurt??
           Please god make it stop,
I'm begging you
                            I can grind the glass to my face erase my eyes,
                                        Eat the glass and disappear from the inside,
                                                    But,
­It all feels like home,
                                   Cutting is,
My security blanket,
                                   And their trying to, take it away from me.
                                    Their sending me away.
          Why?
I need to cut myself they can't take it from me.
               I NEED it.

She's trying her best,
With the war raging inside,
And she just wants to find,
A little peace of mind.

Another scar to make her feel something,
How can the pain feel so right?
Another cut to ease the emptiness,
The blood lets out the screams bottled inside.

With every drag of the blade,
With every bit of hurting,
She creates the peace,
For which she had been searching.

Press it down against the skin,
just enough to make a crease;
sharp side down.

Pull it back
smooth and perfect,
exchange this pain
for one that's eloquent,
warm, and sharp around the edges.

Tracing the blood inside my veins-
with red lines
carved across my wrist.
Another scar,
flowing red and honest.

With each stroke
I etch this strange relief,
Admiring the red and silver swirls
that make the masterpiece,
and drown the sorrow
that brought steel and flesh together
into this unholy union.

The sweet taste of torture,
sharp side down.

what kind of person fantasizes about being sicker than they already are?
man, it's time I realize life is worth it and I've made it this far
when I can't forget, can't forgive, and get stuck
tires spinning, thoughts running, strength thinning
out of control
what role does my faith play in feeling whole?
I wish I could erase this hole eating away inside
but then I might just feel more empty
I try to cut through the feelings by cutting through the skin that covers this lifeless body
the razor shreds my flesh instead of fleshing out all of the chaos inside this mess of a mind

Oh, dear girl
How beautiful you are
How kind and colorful
I see your pain
I see the gashes underneath your clothes
The angry lines on your precious flesh
You burn your pain
Away into smoke
Crimson eyes
Not just from the tears
But from the blunt between your fingers
How I wish
To take your hurt
So you don’t grow up with faint white crosses
On your pretty limbs
You deserve to have your lovely smile
Displayed for all to see