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Literature
73. I Can't
Sometimes it feels like your
fingers have dug their way
into my chest and they are
slowly crushing my organs
and I can't live.
Sometimes, sometimes,
this pain is crippling.
I can't do anything to
make it stop.
This feeling has moved into
my lungs and it's clawing its
way out and I'm bleeding
rivulets of hopes and dreams
and I can't breathe.
Stitch me back together.
It's crawling haphazardly up
my throat and it has taken a
hold of my tongue and I can't
speak.
Literature
43. Dying
There's the sound of her heart
forcing blood through unwilling
veins. She's been fighting a
losing battle, and boy, does she
know it.
--
The monitor's jumping, keeping
track of each heartbeat with the
dripstones of pixellated love. It's
only a matter of time before she
flatlines, but at least they'll know
the moment she gave up.
--
Her body's shutting
down
down
down
and she knows that she'll be
leaving soon. The only thing she's
hoping for is that
Literature
Twenty-Seven Lies
She is the girl with twenty seven lies
etched into her ribcage. They follow
the contours like music notes, every
word, every insult a new, shrill note
in scar tissue that makes her
scream.
[Stupid; Whore; Moron;
Failure;
Imperfect]
She is the girl distorted in the carnival
mirror behind her eyes; warped, twisted
into the grotesque side show creature hidden
behind the curtain.
[Ugly; Fat; Bitch;
Not Enough;
Imperfect]
She is the girl living her life in numbers. The
scale her judgment, her worth, the never
ending countdown to the unobtainable.
[Fatass; Disgusting; Grotesque;
Imperfect;
IMPERFECT]
She is the girl strivi
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An old poem i have in one of my books.Yes, it's obvious it's about self harm - but it's all i can think about right now.
Mature
© 2010 - 2024 forever-confused95
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Deep text... Likes me... My body is trembling too...