[x]

unlovenot all self harm comes
in the obvious form of lines up arms or down thighs
of throwing up insides and self worth
into toilet bowls with the sounds
that make you wonder how you're not dead.
she picked at her lips constantly
cracking and splitting
peeling and bleeding
it stung
more than expected
and it bled
more than ever anticipated
even after she's been doing it all day
she drank her tea that was still steaming
still made her hands flinch from the
far too hot porceline
but she parted lips
and felt it force it way down
burning and splitting
her lips and throat
before settling
like molten in her
ash filled stomach
tiny fingers
pinching, squeezing
pulling on skin
making underneath it
burst
and bloom
her blood like water colour
exploding and spreading
and mixing over
thighs and stomachs
no-one thinks to notice
the bruises
they're accidental
right?

alas, i cannot swim.and you over thought things. you stared at the concrete, and the cars, and the way the light reflected off the passing green car. you imagined how it would feel if it hit you. they're just thoughts though, right? nothing more. you tell yourself, "everyone thinks these things sometimes."
you take an extra long sip from your coffee cup, seeing if you can wash your thoughts away.
-
you spill your coffee on your shirt. a chain reaction, a subtle change of scenery; you don't exactly know what to conclude from this event. you reach into your pocket to pull out your white handkerchief, only it's red now. your hand is bleeding. you don't remember this happening, but then again, you don't remember much of anything. you make your way towards the stretch of the city. you try to let its stomach swallow you whole. is this you? are you growing old? you can't tell if you're dotted with dandelions or soaked up in the city's sweat. you are no longer the man you thought you were, & this can only mea

things the hurricane season taught her-don't make tea when your insides are more
blue than pink.
the leaves soak it up and leave it watery and bland
- its the things that aren't really there that stick
in your throat the most
- goodbyes never get easier
- far away looks better until you get there
then you want somewhere else

- don't poke the ache. it won't
just turn off like you're pressing a button
it will run further and deeper
or burst and spread
- the fog in your chest
wont disperse from breathing
in and out as many times as you can
you'll just lose your sight
and hit the floor
- she had loved him from
the very

trembling knees.don't give up now.
i know that sometimes the floor seems more comfortable when you're curled in the tightest ball you can muster, or that your knees don't work quite right. you wonder if you'll ever stop aching in a way you can't ever describe, and i'm sorry to tell you that you won't ever learn to describe that. you'll get better. you'll find peace.
cause he's not fucking worth it.
and i know its more than that, i know its all piled up on your shoulders, and tangled your stomach and lungs and entire insides into a knot, and that you never were co-ordinated enough to untangle even your necklaces. let alone your internal organs. but keep drinking the tea, it won't solve it, but it will keep you warm enough that death can't touch you.
listen to the stupid man, don't let them take you alive.
yes it hypocritical, yes it makes you feel small and insignificant and fucking useless. but just shut up and listen. if it worked but then, it will work now. in a years time you'll have him on your sk

.i avoid the eyes of people when i'm nervous
stare at spaces in between their eyelids
and let the conversation fade
or dissolve.
i don't know where to let my eyes rest
when you appear
in my head
around my bones
there's nowhere to look
except through you

stuck to the back of my throat.yesterday i saw you in cracks of my staircase
and inbetween the pages of my class novel.
you look like hell, and i thought the
darkened circles under your eyes
resembled the colour i think my
love for you would probably be.
its saddening that the thick oxygenated
purple and red mix is kind of like
what i saw once one one
of those anti smoking commercials
spilling forth from a dissected lung.
thats what you are.
you're my personal cancer.

monster.we watched horror movies together in the back room of the shittiest apartment on the west side. the more blood and cheap effects the better you liked them. i was always worried you might be getting ideas. that you might have been too focused on the red and the way it was forced out and how you could replicate in it in full HD.
most would worry about you replicating it on someone else, like the media is forcing down my throat. god dam this world makes me mad sometimes. too busy trying to stop people hurting other people, that they don't notice those hurting themselves.i noticed you. no-one else did though.
i never understood how your heart could be so big for everyone else, but never enough for you. i have never wished for anything as hard as i did when it came to you. i wished for you to heal, for god to swap our places and give your burden to me. i swear if it meant keeping you by my side i wouldnt care if i never saw the light again or if my knees buckled every single morning under t

11.the internal oceans are more threatening
come winter
it makes them cold
and leaves her shaking
right to her core

its okay in summer
they're warm
and golden

but the icy blues
and stark whites
leave her shaken
and vulnerable

and scared you'll
slip back inside
trying to warm
but really only intending
to break
and burn

too lighti'm starting to lose parts of you
fading in the sun and leaving dates
burnt out and i can't recall
the day you left
but i know the shoes i was wearing
they are heavy as hell now
and i tossed them in a box
under the bed
never taken them out since
they must be filled with grief
or sadness
something i can't see
but oh god i can feel its weight.
it was a nice day too
i use the term -was- because you ruined it
the sun was warming and the
birds seemed happy
tweeting away to themselves
i don't see how that could have been
the day you decided to do it
how could it have made you
tip over the edge
i will never understand that as long as i live
what went through your head
if anything
the flashbacks were the worst
i was catapulted back years
to school yard with your hair
and your guitar clutched against your chest
you held that thing like i so desperately
wanted you to hold me
close to you and with a gentle strength
that looked so safe
are your eyes still the same colour
as the leaves on the gumtr

Untitledi know how to make certain parts of my body numb
if i sit on my feet while i type on my laptop
they go to sleep
a heavy sleep
its a rubber bands around my pinky
and its purples and bruises and goes silent
how do i make my heart stop feeling?
I run my hands over icy water,
slapping my face until I'm too numb/
to know if I'm crying or smiling.
The air gets thicker with unnecessary breaths
and I think
"maybe i never felt at all"
maybe its all a master
i know plenty of things that i've been tricked into believing
like good triumps bad
or that the darkness doesn't last forever
but what if i am the exception
theres any exception to everything
right?
maybe thats me, maybe i am the darkness
and as melodramatic as it sounds
theres no way to disprove it
I try to pack up the words into a suitcase
but they never fit
and the moment I step outside,
they expand like an ocean,
tides of terrible dreams and insufficient touches
and all the little things I tried to convince myself
never truly matte

any other way.the calender pages started to thicken and winter was drawing closer
she piled her jumpers into her drawers and re-stocked the tea supply
ready for her internal oceans to freeze and you to set up camp
in heart
and head
(she never didn't figure out how you were in two places at once)

012so you drink alone in your room
trying to make it all
go away.
but your double vision and double filled lungs
are making the ghosts
in your chest restless
and oh god your co-ordination is shot and you're
just kicking the air around and next to demons.
never connecting.

pressure.she was cracked in places only she could feel, and where the blood could only be tasted, and not seen.
her lips, fingertips and inside her chest. she learned that there are certain body parts prone to being cut or bruised, and her white laced knees could attest to that. but there comes a time when cutting your leg on the coffee table or pinching your stomach with your belt buckle, isn't an accident anymore. its something more, and you know it is. but you can go so long without ever admitting it to yourself, and even longer for anyone else.

Untitledsorry, ma'am, but you're carrying too much luggage
that's not possible. its only 5kg and the limit is 20kg.
emotional luggage, ma'am.
huh?
you're allowed two ghosts per flight
and you have at least five.
oh. sorry. i'll work on that.

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More from =ohsparrowsong

336.does it count as a sign
some grand
NOTICE THIS AND PAY ATTENTION
THE UNIVERSE IS TRYING TO HELP YOU
if its something you put there intentionally
and for this exact reason.
and when does divine intervention
become a fucking coincidence?

the city is my witness.there was a fire, in the pits of her stomach, filling her with warmth that wrapped around bones and flourished on her skin like war paint. it made her fight even when the rain was pouring down on her, like a shower of bullets. it was in there when she was sleeping, making sure that she continued to breath and not let anything take her away from the mission, the war that she was going to win.
she had baggage that was heavy, and she was starting to notice it more and more as the years started to change from a trickle to a hurricane force that was threatening to completely destroy her. oceans rising, the flames licking her ribcage, and bones creaking under weights that just kept growing as each month passed.
the flourishes on her skin were becoming darker and less like trophies and more like tiny deaths that she couldn't shake. there were places that were permanently discoloured, angry and sore. the fire gave way to tangled thoughts and a twisted stomach with a constant sinking feeling, a

10.april 10th.
i have lost this battle.
but oh
i am not losing this
mother fucking war.

this is not the time
or the fucking place
to die.

save yourself.i have been crying almost uncontrollably for several days now, and i am torn between love for everything you've
done and hate for the single thing you did. its not like i never saw this coming, i did. but fuck. nothing could ever have
prepared me for this. prepared my chest to be so utterly crushed in an instant. all of a sudden everything was swallowed up
by overwhelming sadness and i wanted so badly to blame you for everything, and just sink into nothingness, or drown it in a
few dozen bottles of anything i could get my hands on.
if you've given up, well so have i.

napowrimoapril 1st
i just sat there
words lodged in my throat
eyes burning with tears that
i wasn't going to let escape
while you broke
into pieces i couldn't fix.
april 2nd
you gave me stained fingertips
the same colour as your belly.
i still dont know if its from
your poorly rolled mentol's
or if its the colour of
the deepest regret
i've ever felt.
april 3rd.
i tried to write this poetically.
with oceans and stars
and metaphors
so large i lose
connection.
but i can't
some things just
aren't poetic.
april 4th.
you're body was
black and blue
but oh god
there was colour.
there was colour.
and colour means life.
right?
even if its clinging on
by its
fingernails.
april 5th.
i think i've broken
in half
two clean
separate parts
one determined to love.
the other begging to die.
april 6th.
'you're not in this alone'
yes.
yes i fucking am.
now go away.
april 7th.
can i please just
curl up
and cry this
all out
let it soak into
the sheets
and even if i
have to burn
everything
i will
cause i want this gon

90.it was always a god damned contest with you.
my bones were charcoal grey and too heavy
well yours were pitch fucking black and unbearably so
i couldn't breathe when someone said that one name
you literally did stop breathing.
i hit you.
you stayed still.
the white traveled even faster
than your hands did
to shove the bloody things
down your fucking throat.
and i blamed myself
and i hate you for that
you unbelievable bastard.

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Submitted: December 28, 2012
Submitted with: Sta.sh Writer

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swell.

by =ohsparrowsong, Dec 28, 2012, 9:16:45 PM
Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{YOU SPENT THREE MONTHS ON MY COUCH
AND I PERMANENTLY HAD A BUCKET FOR YOU
TO PURGE YOUR INSIDES INTO AT AN UNGODLY HOUR.
BUT YOUR VOMITING MEANT YOU WERE STILL
(JUST)
ALIVE.

AND I'D RATHER CLEAN UP YOUR BODY'S REJECTION
THAN YOUR REJECTED LIFE.}

swell.by =ohsparrowsong

Literature / Poetry / Emotional / Free Verse

_{something that miss *ampersandheart suggested i try.}

*glossolalias Jan 1, 2013

cathartic and powerful.

*callerofcrows Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Wow. This is short and powerful, and I love it so much.

=ohsparrowsong Dec 29, 2012

_{thank you <3
(its a snippit of something much larger, but i think it stood on its own
quite well)}

*callerofcrows Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

It definitely did!! I am always taken aback by your voice in your writing. You could write one line and it would stand on its own.

=ohsparrowsong Dec 29, 2012

_{thank you so much, dear}

~little-supernova Dec 29, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Oooh. Angry poetry gets me going in the most non-right or wrong of ways.

=ohsparrowsong Dec 29, 2012

*dietcocaine Dec 28, 2012 Writer

_{Mmm, this sounds cathartic.
Very nice. <3}

=ohsparrowsong Dec 28, 2012

_{its strange. cause its nonfiction
its just not -my- story.}

*dietcocaine Dec 28, 2012 Writer

_{There are millions of stories out there waiting to be told.
They don't have to be ours for us to need to tell them.}

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swell.

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