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Literature Text
Cutting
Is a bad habbit
That becomes an addiction
We love the pain
We love the blood
We love the adrenaline
It causes numbness
To go away
Even if only for a moment
We know it's wrong
But we can't help it
We always say:
"Just one more"
And when we try to end it
It becomes worse
We miss the shine of the blade
The crimson color of the blood
And its taste on our mouth
The blade is caling me now
Should I attend to it?
Is a bad habbit
That becomes an addiction
We love the pain
We love the blood
We love the adrenaline
It causes numbness
To go away
Even if only for a moment
We know it's wrong
But we can't help it
We always say:
"Just one more"
And when we try to end it
It becomes worse
We miss the shine of the blade
The crimson color of the blood
And its taste on our mouth
The blade is caling me now
Should I attend to it?
Literature
Maybe.
Fist fights and battles in my head
I'll always remember what you said...
The day you lied.
Glass shattered all over the dirt
I'll always remember your last words...
The day you died.
I could have saved you, love.
I should have saved you, love.
I would have saved you, love...
Then maybe we could both still be
Alive.
Literature
dear depression,
(master of the umbra)
i hate you.
broken whispers, lonely promises,
you are the worst of lovers, owning all, but
never seeming to be satisfied
even with your name branded scarlet into my wrists.
i am no longer the golden songbird as when you first met me,
but yet
you still hang onto me
your claws
raking across my heart like
my pen ripping across the bloodstained page, like
lightning across the skies, (vengeance
raining down from the gods i used to believe in)
"don't let them catch you,"
you breathed into my ears.
an ounce of life, in exchange for a cloak of darkness (i thought i'd only stay one night)
the fog was sluggish and deep.
so bl
Literature
You Only Have So Much
Her fingers are dirty,
Her hair tangled.
She's a mess, some would say.
But at least her heart is pure.
His wrists covered in scars,
His stomach roaring with hunger.
He's damaged, some would say.
But at least his love is whole.
Her breathing is heavy,
And her skin is pale.
She's dying, some would say.
But at least she knows how to live.
At least a woman without a house
Knows how to make a home.
Hand her a loaf of bread,
And she won't devour it,
Because she knows how to treasure
The beauty in life.
At least a boy without a smile
Knows how to hold on,
Longer than someone who's never fallen,
And never dared to learn
How to fly.
At least a g
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I've been trying hard to stop cutting. I don't want any more scars, I don't want others to worry about me and I don't want use it as an escape anymore. But it's so hard...
© 2014 - 2024 GhostOfTheEmptyGrave
Comments123
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I understand your feeling. If you know the places not to, it's okay if you can't stop.