...

Does it ever seem like you just keep getting more and more lonely as time goes on?

Suicide wasn't a thing...

So.
I'm still here and stuff.
I told a dear friend that this blog was really just another way to hurt myself.
The essence of masochism.
An artist is what i would like to consider myself but this blog is the anti art...
It's just sad, and just to damn real.
So, that is all it is. It's just a blog.
Nothing poetical or really nice about it.

I ate today. I've eaten every day.
I just try not to eat, is the thing. It's gross and makes me feel dirty and wrong.

I havent cut in three days.

Still alive....

Suicide notes.

... you started writing goodbye notes to your friends because you new that you would die by your own hands sooner or later. But then, as you wrote them, you found yourself slipping and smiling at old memories which made you cry even harder. Love hurts. Especially when you are trying to say goodbye to it.

I can see peoples flitful glances toward my sleeves. The nervous twitches. Insanity makes people uncomfortable. Comfortable or not, they should be ready to face the truth. The truth is pain. It's like a little spore that lodges in your heart and then grows into a fungus that takes over your entire being. If you know anything about fungus, it's not the easiest thing to actually get rid of...

Trapped.

Sometimes its just hard to say it.

Another poem.

My arms are sand paper
Lay down a beat
My heart's a wash board
Make a rythm of me
Sculpt my body into someting new
Scult my life into something old
Turn value of the fading blue
Into someting old
and something new

Take the values of the day
Of the ever changing grey
And sketch the light out of my night
Breaking bricks
And breaking bones
Scatter the dust into a box
Bury it on the mountain tops

My arms are sand paper
Scratched
My heart is a wash board
Played

Turn me
Hold me
Sway me
Change me

Sing me into a peice of art
and hang me up upon a wall
Turn me into something new
and something never known at all

But before you chisel my life away
Sing me to sleep
In the midst of the day
My arms are sand paper
My mind is grey
Feel the beat
Make a rythm of me

Peaches.

No cuts or bruises, just little tiny heartaches.
Just little tiny heart strings out of tune being pulled back into pitch.
Just a kiss good day and a kiss goodbye
Just illusions and delusions
And just a soul to tell speeches to and a hand to hold.
Never knew the road could be so inviting
when a mother could be so biting
and yet she pulls you in
like the lake pulls stars out of the sky and reflcts them from the inside out.
You Juliets
Who gives a damn about the love you gave,
its just the love you made that dies we see.
Just walking to the window
Wishing i could jump out and into the snowy sky
Who knew the day, the night, and all the bits in between,
could fill one with such expectancy for yet the other moment.
Oh, baby's screaming, oh my darling demon
Mama's not alright but she'll put up a good fight
and Sister's off in lala land
damn the ones who don't demand.
Just sitting in a corner waiting for it all to pass,
but realizing it never will until i step out into the grass
and then i can see that the grass leads to dirt
and a road
and a home
far away, with a friend, just a soul
to hear eloquent speeches
and drunkenly sweet peaches
to peal and to pull
and just sitting on the beach nibbling freely.
Damn the right way and the wrong way,
my broken words aren't meant for paper, yet i write.
My songs are not meant for ears, yet i sing.
My fingers
oh my hands
My bloody bloody hands.
Here we go.
Here we are.
Where's the road my darling?
All i see is shattered pieces.
pieces of what?
Pieces of hearts
you fool.
Why break them?
yet you do.
You've broken every dear friends heart.
Wheres the soul to hold your hand and hear your speeches and eat your peaches?
Where is the peace?
The peace is on the beach, all alone, in the world
in a place
where no one sees
yet they still hear
the beating of a heart that wishes for another beating heart to steal.

Lost again.

She looked down and there she saw the little shreds of red staring back at her. Those replicas of the long lost traces of her mind and her soul written there, right on her arm.
"I dont know what to say. I dont know what to do. All i know is that there's this lovely little feeling that shoots up my arms, leaving me with a tingly sensation behind my eye's."
Lost again. Yeah, she's drowning. Drowning in something red.

Pretend is not a fun game.
She plays pretend every day.

"I've heard it all. I am loved? Not for what i am. I just have to get by somehow. I just have to develope myself with this defect."
She's gone.
"I'd like to leave the house, but I can't."
Is there a point in trying to stop her from opening up that little box of blades now?