Binge

I'm a suicide wannabe,
Where is the change sir?
I need to know what I defend,
I'm an island in the clouds,
There is no reason to shoot me down,
Take care of me instead,
Tread lightly over words,
While I,
Chew on broken glass,
And let the blood slide through my gums,
This isn't a cry for help

A feather

She's hovering on crows wings,
Drunk, strung out,
A real mess of a thing,
The worst of the moments comes out,
Hair scraggaly and eyes a cloud,
She smirks a little and chuckles,
Watching her blood drip to the ground

This post!

This is my 30th post :3
I feel all proud and junk.

Uh....

The Knife;
I'm having another one of those nights,
An aching, blinking, over absorbed sort of night,
The kind where I sit in scilence and think of how I've done wrong,
The kind where I feel the air is like sandpaper on my skin,
I'm always shaking anymore,
This pricking feeling in my eyes won't leave me alone,
I've lost my will to sleep,
And to feed,
And I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do next,
It just another close and open of the eyes,
Hoping the next second won't bring me to the knife

You may say I'm a dreamer...

I think my feelings or extreme joy, and complete numbness are really the same thing..

It's a sliding scale of how far away I am from a total breakdown.


The same peak to the same mountain of horror...

The things she's not

A fighter, a lover,
A well-behaved girl,
Special, or lovely,
Or even some one of note

The things she is,
Are so great and terrible,
She'll never give them name,
But to shiver, at the mere thought

Desires

I want a man to call me his,
Or maybe just to be a whore,
To show everyone that I'm not so strong,
I want to live below your expectations,
To proove that I was right when I said,
I'll never be good enough,
This hearts too small to hold you,
But I love you anyways

A thought

I remember
That yesterday, when I was crying, thinking that the only thing that would actually help
would to be to slide out of his arms, and at least pretend I wasn't desprate for him every second of my life
but, I'm not as strong as I pretend to be, and, that was impossible.

Vacation....

almost 20 hours on a bus, ehh, prolly much more than that. Lots of doodling and writing to be done on days like that...

Eyepatch-
Let me see,
how this silly thing inside me,
beats,
just trim away layers of skin,
A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light,
No, no, I won't be screaming,
just cut me open,
I need to see,
And, oh, I can see the worry,
And your face is the light at the end,
Of my tunnel vision,
Eyes, your worried my dear,
Please, I've not screamed yet,
It's not your fault,
Just cut me open,
And then you'll see