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A shot is a shot, it doesn't matter from who's gun it came. I can't breathe when I think about it, I can't breathe. A leaded weight ties itself to my lungs and I just can't breathe.
The blood pumping through our veins. Our hearts beating all the same. I look at it as if it's beautiful red rain. Trickling its way down, it seems to stop and say forget about the pain.
(Sorry feeling down at the moment and slightly bored) One more cut. I knew it wouldn't be enough to ease my internal pain, a deep sickening pain that tortured me daily, but...
Tears burned as they rolled down her cheeks. Thoughts pounded through her head after every heart beat.
Who would have thought. Today would be the last. No more will there be. Only whatever awaits. In a lonely afterlife. No more sky. No more earth. No more sea. No more anything. The clouds are grey.
I blinked at my scar on my wrist, Wondering how I got in this twist The vain stood out and went very bright, You could see it out of sight It stings it hurts it burns, aching all over, Please, when...
i dont know what this is, but its long so i understand if you dont read it all.
How are you feeling. A very simple question, To which many can't answer, With an honest confession. You truly wish to know, How I feel inside, To know my thoughts, And the feelings I hide.
Every night she cries herself to sleep. She feels like she has no one but herself. She's been hurt too much to trust anyone again. Her favorite place is her room.
#household Pigs are coming to stop me dying Don't want to die but doesn't stop me trying A few small scratches upon my arm Before the knife does real harm.
His mouth gaped, eyes widened. I looked away again. Heather was mortified. He still held my wrist, tight. He wouldn't let go. The harder I pulled, the tighter his grasp.
Sally went home. It was just me, Paul, and Heather. We sat outside Dunkin Donuts in the pouring rain, relaxing.
I changed my band aids and went to my World Studies final the next day. I wore a long sleeved blue shirt that hid my wrist perfectly. My dad eyed my left arm suspiciously.
She grabbed my phone and opened up my texts. I just let her. I couldn't move. Couldn't speak. By the way her eyes burned with flaming anger, I knew she had just read Paul calling me an attention...
I froze. She looked at me with her big, blue eyes. I couldn't look back. I couldn't look at anyone. I got dizzy. "Uh," I said softly. I waited for a lie to spring from my throat. Anything.
I woke up. My depressed state was gone. I felt refreshed and ready for my Chorus and French finals. I lifted up my hand. And my mouth dropped open. Dozens of cuts riddled my left wrist.
After a moment, Paul typed: "EMILY YOU ARE THE BIGGEST FREAKING ATTENTION WHORE I'VE EVER KNOWN STOP PLAYING THESE FREAKING STUPID GAMES OMG GUYS IM SCRATCHING MY WRISTS BECAUSE IM SO GOTH FEEL SORRY...
"That's nice." I stared at the tiny scratch I'd made on my left wrist. "Again," the voice of my depressed side urged. "Again." Scratch. "Again." Scratch. "Paul," I typed. "I'm not cutting.
"You are an ugly, worthless, piece of nothing." I closed my eyes and tried to fight it. The thoughts pouring into my head. "No wonder those people at church treat you like a loser.
I feel really guilty about something but I can't tell people cuz I promise I wouldn't and it's not like it's gonna hurt anyone's feeling but but it will ruin my friendship with someone I have known...
Scarification. Self mutilation. Born from the very depths of Frustration. No way out of a bad situation. Bleeding to set my soul free. Damnation. Religious condemnation.
I look into the mirror, There's cracks along the glass, A world to look into, Staring into a mask.
I wonder how people can cry so much, But never show one drop of pain. Or why I'm so mesmerized by your touch, But I'm always left out in the rain.
I'm sorry I'm not enough. I'm sorry I don't want to do anything buy lie in grayscale lighting I'm sorry I'm pathetic, like broken strings. I'm sorry I'm quiet, like a mournful flower.