unlovenot all self harm comes in the obvious form of lines up arms or down thighsof throwing up insides and self worthinto toilet bowls with the soundsthat make you wonder how you're not dead.she picked at her lips constantly cracking and splittingpeeling and bleedingit stungmore than expectedand it bledmore than ever anticipatedeven after she's been doing it all dayshe drank her tea that was still steamingstill made her hands flinch from the far too hot porceline but she parted lipsand felt it force it way downburning and splittingher lips and throatbefore settlinglike molten in herash filled stomachtiny fingers pinching, squeezingpulling on skinmaking underneath itburstand bloomher blood like water colourexploding and spreadingand mixing overthighs and stomachsno-one thinks to noticethe bruisesthey're accidentalright?
human hibernation.i wish i could say it rained the day we gave you back to the earth, that even the heavens were crying for you. it didn't though. it was 28 degrees and our black coats of grief were heavy in so many ways. it felt unfair, and i wasn't ready to let you go just yet, if i could have put myself in the wretched box i would have in a heartbeat. the cliches were in full force that day, and i didn't care for a minute. all i knew is the earth, or god, or whoever took you from me better be grateful to have you back.there was something in my stomach that day, a knot, a twist, something that felt wrong and out of place from the second i opened my eyes
water-colour emotionsyou can't buy happiness, but you can buy tea, and thats kind of the same thing. i've been told that i have a knot inside my chest, like those of the inside of a tree truck, eternally circling and looping. thats kind of how it feels, heavy and unstoppable. if i have a tree inside me, then maybe that could explain the shaking, its just the westerly winter winds blowing and making my far too fragile limbs bend but never break. i soak the tea leaves into the roots that are deep within my fleshy heart and hope the capillaries will carry to wherever the aches are most ingrained and unnatural.mother told me thr
NaPoWriMo 2012.april 1st i am green. and red. and giving myself bruises.you smile, i smile.she smiles.[my smile drops]april 2nd i think i would like to take flightand travel far from the worlds depthstrading my arms for wingsbecoming a creature of the skyrather than of the sea or ever of land.april 3rd each feeling trailed down his armleaking and bleeding like water colour emotions.he wishedjust for once to be solidpermanentin at least one aspectapril 4th you're giving me feelings in my tummy that i had forgotten.the oceans aren't quite so scary and they seem like they're going to carry me somewhere nice rather th
faultyThere is something wrong with your head.That's what they'll tell you. They have charts, statistics, big words with even bigger meanings to dissect what's going on inside your brain. They break it down to chemicals. They break it down to traumatic experiences, to overwhelming pressure in school or at work. Somewhere inside of your most powerful organ, they tell you, there is a critical piece missing. When your heart goes bad they cut you up with scissors and build you a new one. Other organs can be repaired or replaced. But your brain?When your brain goes bad they feed you happy pills and lies. They tell you that some day you might grow ou
fidgety fingers.theres a tangle in the middle of my chest, that is pulling and catching all the remediesi try and force out from between my quivering lips and out into the cold winter air.i can see my breath, and thats the only thing of substance or solidity coming frommy fucked up insides.i thought about dying, and how they would slice me open and find nothing outof the ordinary and they'd just declare it suicide, or death from overly heavy bootsand never notice the tangle or the oceans or whatever the fuck it is that keeps me awake with the moon.that would be incredibly unfair.they wouldn't find anything inside me to explain my shaking hands or old film grainvision as the moon seems to be grateful for some late night company.i tried to drown it, force the high pressured water down my throat and let it fall over and in the knot and work it undone, but it is double loopedor just stubborn as i am and i just ended up with my head over porcelainpuking up more than just insidesif
all fell to the groundHe wrote each feeling on the insides of his arms, sinking it into his blood stream. Most days, it would be a list trailing down his arm, each one crossed out with red pen, leading onto the next. On his first day of school the list looked like this.NervousHeavy bootsLongingHopefulContentHungerWanderlustFearBoredom.He liked the way the ink letters would bleed into each other and eventually become illegible, and by that point that's usually how he felt. The red would seep and emphasise the tangle, and it would take a little-too-hot shower to wash it off.[the stain was still inside him though, and the shower didn't even begi
what burns in the fire just ends up as coals.i hated you becauseyou could keep quietwhen i couldn't, and the carefulnature you held onto untilthe precise & perfectmoment.it was all i could donot to explodebut i was still fireand spread slow,slick & smooth beneathyour skinand i kept my tongue stillfirmly in my mouthnot letting anything escapesave for tiny breathsthat i was sureweren't enough to keepmy lungs satisfiedand the fire spreaduntil i was wildfireand my bones were kindlingand you just sat therekeeping quietwhile i burned alive.wondering when youwould ever speak.
stinging.lover asked me about the purplethat curved and stretched alongmy legs and thighsbold and bruised against my skin.i told him'they're stretch marks'he ran his fingers along themand felt them raisedand smoothbut some were roughand still sore to the touch.but he didn't question.just kissed themand told me he loved me.he doesnt need to know that i tore myself openover and over trying to findthis feeling and tear it out of mehe doesn't need to know that.
illumine - the story of hannah rose.there was irregularity in her body, something inside her wasn't fitting right with all the other pieces and it left her feeling weak and alone. there was a misconnection with the wires inside her precious head, and she shouted at the air, and threw things at mirrors and wanted to rip her skin off feeling trapped beneath its overwhelming mass, she feared what was beneath it, and never quite understood why the things she imagined were so different to what the numbers told her, they said so much less than she felt, and she simply decided they were lying and she was in fact a monster. she often wondered if everyone else felt this kind of weight p
Untitledthings she's destroyed this year;two washing machinesfrom the pockets she fills with rockswhen the rains come and she wants to drownthe corners of all her books from flickingbending and shaking edgeswhenever she thinks of youyou stupid boyher first carcrumpled in a ravineand it left a scar on her stomachthat she sometimes can pokeand feel a lump that science can't explainand she thinks it physical sadnessrestingwaitingthe entire box of platesthat her mother gave her for moving outand making it on her ownwell, she almost made itbut something about thembeing under the ground lefther shaking uncontrollablyand the tears slid underneath fingertipsand she lost the gripand didn't notice until she'd ran to phoneand left a trail of her insidesalong the corridor.her heart linesor whatever it is that lets the happiness inthey're sealed shuttight and all she can do isstareat things that don't notice herwhatever it was that connected himand herand let the sparks
cheap whisky.instead of exchanging numberswe exchanged horror storiesand compared ourdrunken scars[yours down your sidemine up my arms]when i looked at you from a distancei thought maybe you couldcut me open withyour cheekbones[but you never wereso merciful]and your eyes were as emptyas the bottles that weclutched to gain the silverthat traced our bodies[but the rest of you was fullof lossandloveandhateandblackness]you said that there was lead in my veinsand you brought it to the boiland i sat there burningwith bugs being drawn to me[my destruction was more beautifulthan i ever could be]i remember you hit me
silence. sometimes, i feel nothing.starting from the nape of my neck, and not really spreading, more leading, from spot to disconnected spot. sometimes its just my neck, and i can feel it, but i can't and its confusing and i wish that just for once something would make sense, and be simple.nothing ever is though. not ever.i touch it, and i can feel the shapes, the round tips of my fingers pinching and poking skin. its dull though, and i feel like if i could see it, the edges would be blurred and the colours would be all wrong. blues and greens where there should be pinks and whites.it makes sense to me. in my head at least.
lightspeed.no-one wants to hear about my neurosis. no-one wants to hear about how i think i'm losing my mind, and i want to know how it feels to drown, or explode or just stop existing for long enough for someone to notice that maybe i matter a little more than i've been led to believe. i want to stop this constant tight in my chest, and replace it with static nothingness. i want to stop the shaking of all my limbs and feel steady for the first time in my life, to calm the ocean that is raging through my blood vessels. i don't have blood, there is salted water there instead, and the moons phases are controlling it and changing the tides, that are making
patchwork I really don't sleep enough.I don't know what's me anymore and what Ive invented and wore for so long I cant tell where I start and the skin begins.I am pathetic.
you must have been really high up!
makes things appear miniature (:
cool though (: