She wore a straitjacket.
It was a tight fit.
Writhing around, she begged for a knife, begged anyone who passed her by.
No one seemed to have more than one glance to throw her way.

This screaming, terrified woman, stumbling through streets and patches of grass,

She yelled for someone to free her. But the most intense emotion she's seen as of late was fear, and fear was an ugly color. She couldn't help but reflect it back.

She found her situation... tragic.

But, one day, someone finally tries to help her.

Taking a knife, this kind stranger begins to cut into this restraint she's found herself in.

And, instead of looking relieved, this woman screams louder, and runs away on broken feet. She runs away as fast as her starving legs could take her.

Because this straitjacket was made of skin.

The pain of metal in her flesh restraint, was unbearable.

Maybe once she's aware of the cycle, she'll push through the pain, to see her arms again...

Doubtful.

I dream of a place that's not like this
I dream of a paradise
I dream of a little light, at least
And a room where no one cries

My soul is burning inside
Where words cut every bite
I've changed, denying that they were right.
Please, I need you tonight.

I can feel you moving through my body
I can feel you expanding and engulfing everything inside of me
Please, let me go and live a normal life
Without something who'll soon or later stub me with a knife

I am brave but I'm not strong to fight
Dear depression, leave at my sight
Just let me back to where I suppose to be

I stare at the Kettle:
Reflection of your vile face.
Has left me in aghast!
Oh, how I wish to erase
Flashback of grotesque past.
Heart seared by the venom
Of disturbing memories
Caused by antagonism.
This rage can’t be appease
Mind becomes murderous.

The Kettle begins to hiss:
The soul simmers with wrath-
Insanely dangerous,
Hungry for a blood bath!
Oh, I wish for a knife
And stab you many times
As you left me in strife
From your abusive crimes.
Wounded me as a child
And left me powerless.

Boiling Kettle rattles:
My madness is wild
Have I lost my saneness?
Many years I’ve been irate-
Tolerating in silence-
Blood boils with sinful hate!
My spirit seeks the thrill
For an eye for an eye-
As it lust for your ****
And to see you die!

Gas sparks, Kitchen ignites:
Body burnt into ashes-
Soul seethes in resentment.
Revenge sweetly slashes
You to my contentment.
Hands stained with red blood
Like trenches of war mud.
Eyes consumed and blind -
Peace of heart now confined
By rapacious rage.

Mind is a Murderer!
Am I a Murderer!
Will I ever surrender?
Will I ever surrender
And taste tranquility?
Or is my spirit cursed?
Or is my spirit cursed
To be trapped by the thirst
Of the boiling kettle
That will never settle
Until vengeance scorches!

(c)Jo Swan 2018

Laying in the lawn
On a boring day
Looking up at the plain blue
"How unimaginative"

I throw the little knife into the air
To see where it lands

I tell myself
Think of him
Another red **** on my arm
He doesn’t want you to do this
Another one
He loves you
Again, this time deeper
He will worry for you
I waver
He will see them
Don’t care. I return to the fluid motion
He will ask you why
The blood drips down my arms
He will want you to stop
I want to stop
He will help you if you let him
I don’t need anyone’s help
Yes you do
I know
So get it
I can’t. I will fix this myself.

I won’t make anyone else deal with my ******* problems

Writing, for me, is an escape.
An escape from the hatred that surrounds me.
An escape from the people who want to hurt me.
An escape from the people who send attackers after me.
An escape from the people who use others to get at me.
An escape from the darkness that lives within me.
An escape from the darkness that lives in you.

It burns like an acid,

these hot tears,

Tearing through my skin.

The inside of my chest shredded,

And it's your hand this time,

That holds the carving knife.

Through it all, I hear a pounding-

                          
                                          It's my hand on the table.
                                          As some tune's stuck in my head.
                                          I look around at all my friends,
                                          Grins and smiles a blaze by the fire.
                                          And for the first time in a long while,
                                          I join in, and I'm okay.

Scratch by scratch
The knife is marking my wrist
Tears are streaming down my face
But I feel numb.

Scratch by scratch
I keep leaving shallow scrape on my shin
Tears are streaming down my face
It's starting to hurt.

Scratch by scratch
There's a reddish stroke lining my spine
Tears are streaming down my face
I'm finally alive.

The painter has her paintbrush.
She swipes and glides it across,
A picture of red moves and she smiles.

The sensation of this pretty picture,
Gives her pure bliss.
Pouring her heart and thoughts into this picture.
And smiling as she starts to see black.

Over a hundred glides from her sharp paintbrush,
But that isn't enough
Sadly she knows she needs to stop,
If she does not want anyone to suspect.

She cleans her weapon.
She smirks and wraps the art in white,
Enjoying the pain.
Then she lays down, closing her eyes, and falls into a dreamless sleep, hating herself.