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imonlyherewhenimsad · 2 years
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styrofoam cups
I want to cut so much deeper life is a blur of lights and sounds distorted by tunnel vision and sound proof glass DISSOCIATION I need to cut so much deeper what’s the fucking point running around one place to the other aimlessly and without purpose NIHILISM I will cut so much deeper when the blood pools around my feet I can see again the purpose to live to teeter on the edge of death BLEEDING
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 2 years
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the call of addiction
hello again, my old friend doctor bloodletter simply so wrong how long it’s been since you’ve heard my swan song I truly never wished to say goodbye your siren’s call I cannot ignore aspirations and dreams to reify a waking nightmare screaming for gore I’ve ran away so many times always to fall beneath the tides drowning until you swam to me you are my lifesaver my muse and my savior angels are not found in heaven but in a box of straight razors yearning for blood
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 2 years
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inescapable ending
everywhere I see faces screaming into the void, with me, without me an open, gnashing, masticating maw ready to consume everything and all envelope me in those teeth rid me of life, abhorrent experience divinity within the void better than years more of torment bring me this sweet ending the inevitability of the grave beckoning me forthwith I am not brave for living but a coward for dying praying that you may be strong enough to visit my tomb with me, without me scared to live yet scared to die with the burning desire to be sacrificed to have this ego ripped from flesh ascend my soul, with me, without me
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 3 years
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self-hatred
I’ve committed treason let myself and loved ones down with no discernable reason these intrusive thoughts decided to breeze in these hateful thoughts in my head are horrifying filled to the brim with gruesome visages of me dying and I can’t bring myself to start trying even the slightest bit of internal purifying slices up and down my arm an ocean of blood on the ground self hatred can’t be disarmed but is turned inside out and manifests as self-harm all energy devoted to falsifying the hope of getting better or validating anything and everything I am is agitating existence is utterly unsatisfying
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 3 years
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sensing death
bleeding out feel the blood fall ending drought hear the pitter-patter of rain pouring down this spout see the red overtake it all everything I’m now without smell the iron of death I’m adoring life begins to fadeout the end I can almost taste it
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 3 years
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blood dance
come dance with me in the streets ablaze we’ll bleed out our veins everyone else is unphased come, gather ‘round let’s make a pool fill it with our blood and we’ll bleed out like fools
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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BREATHE IN this miasma of perpetuity suffocate in banality scrambling for solid ground only to fall beneath the sound BREATHE OUT windpipe collapsing beneath this oppressive boot lungs only gasping death becomes absolute RESPIRE or drown
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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too much blood
once a shovel breaks ground you have to dig a hole a brush makes contact with canvas only to birth art the pen touches paper to write down it all but the blade tears open skin to destroy a fresh start cut one brings pain cut five burns and stings cut ten feels euphoric I convince myself that there’s something to gain cut twenty, I lose control cut thirty, a pool is at my feet cut fifty, the razor runs out of sharp sides at rock bottom, there’s no farther to fall cut seventy, the bleeding stops stemming from the road map of solid blood on my wrists cold stalactites hang from my arm made of clot and elastic like rubber “rip off the clots”      the voice says “return the flow of blood”      what am I to do but obey? anything to silence the voices anything to keep the bleeding
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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fucking kill me
it would appear: some of the cuts on my arm are quite deep but I know: all of my cuts should’ve gone deeper
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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ideation
take in the wrong breath of fresh air or maybe the sunshine falls at just the worst angle the blade calls to be returned to the flesh a firestorm of quiet circumstances a supreme feeling of abandonment to be tossed aside and discarded left alone to rot before death anguish turned inward: a conduit for scars everyday is filled with the tock of a ticking clock counting down the minutes until the end when will it be when the blade cuts too deep severs one of the storm clouds in my arm? sixty slices later and the answer is no closer all I see now is another rainstorm of blood another puddle to be wiped up and cleaned away to be replaced once again another day
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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when it rains, it pours
my life is an accumulation of twenty uniquely portioned threads all pulled to different degrees of tautness all coming to a specific predisposed distance that I am not allowed to know personal growth is when all threads are simultaneously pulled to exhaustion and kept there for eternity but if my grip slips and one string falls it will cause an avalanche when I try to grab it and another string will fall between my grasp and then another and that will destroy me and set me back to ground zero broken as ever
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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irreconcilable rage
when the anger takes its hold I can’t see past the red fog no inhibitions to stop me      from banging my head      from punching the wall      from breaking something      from screaming so loud it hurts when the anger takes its hold I don’t feel the pain or see the blood dripping      from cracking my knuckles      over a freshly punched hole in the wall      from the self-inflicted bruises      on my skull once the anger takes its hold something--someone--else takes over my body and I can’t stop myself from creating immense chaos until reality washes over me like a flood in the desert and fills my eyes with tears and fills my heart with grief so heavy, the weight in my chest I just need this to stop
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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carousel
is it recovery if improvement is coupled with relapse every two weeks? is it recovery if I replaced the stinging pain on my wrist for the pain of an empty stomach? tit for tat eye for an eye starvation for cutting one cut for the anger I felt one cut for eating one cut for feeling tempted and another for succumbing my perseverance is dependent on whether I can resist the temptation of self-harm by performing a different version of self-harm one cut for thinking I could get better one cut for starving myself one cut for trying to recover and another thirty for failing is it recovery once the razor hits the floor drowns in a pool of blood gets cleaned up and thrown away? is it recovery once the voices in my head stop shouting and demanding for my inevitable end?
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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empty
breakfast is a large cold glass of water that slowly falls down the throat and settles in the stomach. it cools the bones and chills the nerves lunch is a mug of hot tea methodically sipped to fill up. the soothing warmness coats the gut, stimulates the blood, and mellows the nerves cold to resist the hunger hot to satiate it weight loss is a goal starvation is a means to an end I need to see my bones and the fat must go what do you do to exhibit control?
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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relapse
zero hours since cutting  the guilt the shame how the FUCK did I let this happen again... ... I hate feeling like this I just want to die twenty-four hours since cutting I can’t do this alone so I’m reaching out to a friend      they don’t get mad      they aren’t angry      they reassure me      they help me      they give me tips to help heal the brain seventy-two hours since cutting I’m writing self-affirmations I’m complimenting myself in the mirror      and for half a second, I almost believe myself I took the time to clean my apartment I’m setting goals one-hundred and twenty hours since cutting everyday is another reason to celebrate another twenty-four hours alive   one-hundred and sixty-six hours since cutting
SLICE IT OPEN               CUT        RELEASE THE BLOOD                                                                     CUT                WHAT’S THE FUCKING POINT IN RESISTING                      JUST FUCKING CUT ALREADY                                                                              YOU’RE NOT WORTH                                                                                           ENOUGH TO RECOVER                             CUT!
zero hours since cutting ... ...  ... oh, how I’ve missed this sadness
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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a brief vacation
remission makes it feverish addiction abhors hiatus respite from slicing open skin makes the desire obsessive every success is paired with burgeoning needs to cut again with time, wounds will close up and heal compelling them to be restored breaks always end; self-harm resumes the cuts become lacerations what once dripped now oozes and pours blood blood blood blood blood blood blood blood
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imonlyherewhenimsad · 4 years
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hedonism
I need it blade in hand I need it pressed to the skin I need it slowly at first I need it the sting of the first slice I need it cut faster I need it eyes seeing red I need it keep going I need it more blood I need it it’s never enough drip drip drip, drip drip drip, drip, drip a need fulfilled with a heart left vacant
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