There’s a certain disharmony in the way of things,
and how it turns humans into monsters. I saw a monster turn a girl
into a woman with her clothes on the floor,

and he carved ‘liar’ on her chapped lips. I reached out when
she stood before me, holding a razor in one hand and whiskey
in the other. She had dashed lines on her wrists

and shattered glass at her feet. I feel like screaming, but my gums bleed
from a mouth full of broken metal wire.
I cannot tell you the story that sits on my shoulders like a child,
too young to understand the weight of himself.

Now my eyelids have been peeled from my face and
I cannot look away from the girl when she comes home after school
and asks me for help with her homework
because the least I can do is solve a few math problems.

I almost never look at them anymore
The scars left behind
White lines
And Dashes
Across my left wrist
One from when my cat scratched me
One from the first time I coped with a blade
One from before I knew how to hide them
I almost never look
But they’re still there, and they look at me
And sometimes, 8 years later
I get so unstable
I want to pick up the scissors
I want to see the pain taking form
So that I don’t have to hold it in
Anymore, but
I don’t because I feel like
It would create a burden on you that
I’m not willing to place and
Because I know I’m stronger than the scissor blades
And because
I like to wear sleeveless shirts even in the winter

It's funny how we keep things bottled up,
in the dead of the night, dark of the room
the razor was to my wrist again-
it demanded I paint these secrets across my skin
and feel the blood rush to the open wound I caused myself.
Then I looked up and saw myself in the mirror
sunken eyes and hollowed demeanor
this wasn't me.
The light in my eyes was dark again
and the blue where I used to be was now just gray.
So I dropped what was holding me hostage-
and I turned to the pills instead.
I took one, down the hatch it went.
My breath stayed shallowed and harsh
as if my lungs were crying with me.  
I looked down at the bottle
poured it's contents to the floor and counted-
is ten enough to **** me?
I took another.
is nine more enough to **** me?
I didn't want to know.
So I held the pills beneath my fingertips
as if they were the grim reaper
and I put them back in their place.
Nine pills all back in their happy little bottle-
I realized they held more power in my life than I did.
So I broke, threw the bottle and broke the wall.
Then silence.
The only thing I heard were the thoughts in my head
and the silence of my cell phone
that I wished was ringing out to help me.
But I was alone again.
I hadn't felt this low in so long-
but this time no one was around to care.
I thought about how I could end it
and I probably wouldn't be found
until three days later.
As the sun sets and rises, sets and rises, sets and rises again
I would be one with the sky
and I wonder why the **** I want so badly to die-
because the past two weeks of my life
I finally felt ******* alive
like I could breath again-
like anxiety took a vacation with depression
and left me with the optimist to babysit.
But I guess their vacation was short-lived
and they came back-
made a mess of what I had built for myself
what I had been working so ******* hard for.
Chaos.  

So in short, I wanted to **** myself last night
thought of all the ways I could do it-
but then I saw the faces of the people I love
and then they were masked by all the pain I've caused
then that was masked by all the people that hurt me
so my knuckles repeatedly kissed the punching bag
until they bled onto the white cloth like decoration-
I was an artist.
The medicine kicked in-
sleep kissed my eyes and made my mind foggy
and I began to think about all the good things again.
I remembered the way silence was my favorite melody
and I drifted into the nirvana I was hoping for.

It's funny how we keep things bottled up-
because the silence of my cell phone
made me realize how strong I really was.
The secret I keep of last night reminds me
how many secrets are able to be kept.
The war raging inside me isn't one you win or lose-
It's the kind you have to fight in order to survive
even if no one even knows it's inside you.

She paints a pretty picture
But all the inks run red the picture Of a ****** battle
That's going on inside her head

She paints a oretty picture
Of a girl in dress and heels
But the mirror shows a skeleton
But still she skip another meal

She paints a pretty picture
But nobody's seen it yet
It's of a shiny razor
That makes her sleeves red and wet

She paints a pretty picture
of an angel in the sky
That didn't see the point of life
And now they all whisper
"Suicide"

Now i paint a pretty picture
It's all in black and white
Our memories and childhood dreams
Still wonder why she took her life

i liked the pain
it was what kept me sane
i harmed myself
ever since i was twelve
i was just a sad kid
that did whatever my dad forbid
i was a little rebel
that made my parents go mental
i had to resist
so i decided to slit my wrist
and even though i was loved
this depression had me cuffed
i decided to give up
and no one was to make me stop

It's 2:35 am and the notebook is on tv
trigger warning
right after I got a haircut I like
my mother takes me to the grave
of my dog that died just three days ago..
trigger warning
my dad talks down to me
trigger warning
my brother talks down to me
trigger warning
I make my mom mad
trigger warning
I cry at an overly romantic scene on a tv show
trigger warning
I'M TIRED OF ALL THESE ******* TRIGGERS.
so pull it, pull the ******* trigger
and watch me spiral the **** out of control
until the tears streaming down my face
seep into the lungs I use to try and breathe-
but see the anxiety is weighing down on my chest
like it wants to steal my lunch money-
pull the ******* trigger.
Go ahead television, mom, dad, brother, anyone
pull the ******* trigger-
and watch as my mind goes blank
twenty round shots straight at my hand
and then wonder why exactly I want to be dead.
trigger warning
No. These hands have held the gun too long
placed my fingers neatly on the trigger
ready to aim, and to fire
like I'm in some kind of action movie
"CUT!"
because i'm not a ******* extra
in some botched overly explosive action film-
I'm the ******* director of a best-selling
highly anticipated autobiography turned movie
that sells out every single theatre opening night!
I am in control of these words I hear
I am in control of these emotions
that I have spent my days trying to feel entitled to.
I will no longer hold close to the gun that triggers my downfall-
The NRA ain't got **** on me baby
because I'm packing thirty two rounds
of sure fire confidence and aiming right
at my own insecurities but I won't pull the trigger-
because I can't **** what makes me feel so alive
I can't **** these emotions I wish to diminish
but why would I want to?
Because I feel things more strongly and profusely than most
and I love harder than any ******* I have ever known
and I **** and I fight with more passion and more fury
than any Nicholas Sparks novel or Jason Statham movie-
******* try me!
Because these palms hold more grudges than hands
and this body feels more anxiety attacks than relief
so ******* try me-
because I am not my trigger warnings
nor will I ever be.

I was made to love
And i was sure it had to be you
But seems like i was tricked
And you were too

You leave it alone
You're already over me
I'm so desperate to move on
I fall in love with whoever i see

I've been so stupid
Almost lost my innocence
In a ******* forrest
I thought ihad a better taste..

Right now i wouldn't mind dying
I comvince myself i'm happy
But why can't i just face that i'm not?
Beacuse i wanna move on and be all jumpy

I'm scared of those voices
They scream to hell
They could bring me to death
I can't let them win
But I'm just so tired
So tired of this life
Too tired to fight
I just want to let go
Close my eyes
Take a deep breath
And drift off to a never ending sleep
Cause afterall
Wasn't i born to die?