Tw: Self Harm, Self Loathing

Tw: self harm, self loathing

A girl lies on her bedroom floor.

She bleeds through her eyes and cries through her veins.

I watch her helplessly and let her fall apart.

Everyday she fights long lost battles and dies gruesome deaths.

Her life is nothing but a grave full of dead hopes.

I watch her and do nothing.

Perhaps because there isn't much left of her to be saved.

She is covered in bruises I don't recognize her anymore.

I watch her with curiosity.

Her eyes dark and cold like the night itself, she reeks of misery.

A home full of ghosts, none of them remotedly as dead as her soul.

I watch her mercilessly.

After all that's what monsters like her deserve.

I say, and I stop watching her.

No part of her deserves to be loved.

I say, and I step away from the mirror.

More Posts from Unlikelyanonymous and Others

3 years ago

Tw: self harm, ed

Alternate universe

In an alternate universe,

I am 14 and alone in my room,

And my hands haven't harmed myself yet.

In an alternate universe,

My mom isn't emotionally dead,

And my dad isn't the monster yet.

In an alternate universe,

I still have her by my side,

I haven't screwed everything yet.

In an alternate universe,

I don't flinch when I look in the mirror,

There are no scars on my thighs yet.

In an alternate universe,

I still eat like a normal person,

I haven't ruined myself yet.


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3 years ago

There is love in my mother's disapproval.

It is there in the way she looks at me,

The way she loathes my existence.

It's not visible but it's there.

There is love in my father's resentment.

It is there in the way he talks to me,

The way he is ashamed of me.

It's not apparent but it's there.

There is love in my family.

It is there in broken dreams.

It is there in domestic scars.

So much love that you almost mistake it for hate.


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3 years ago

Pic via pinterest

You were like the sea

Pic Via Pinterest

The delicate intimacy of you visiting my dreams. Only then I get to see you.

The sea, with all its hurricanes, all its storms. It reminds me of you.

Watching you fall in love and out of love. But never with me.

You were like the sea, with all its stillness. And all its peace.

My intense longing for you to stay. So hopeless yet so ardent.

Because just like the sea you were. Always changing yet so persistent.


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3 years ago

And I wonder

Your voice so sweet through a telephone.

Your presence is a comfort, oh it feels like home.

Dancing on your roof while it's raining above.

And i wonder if you feel it grow.

Your touch like velvet, would I ever refrain?

Honey brown eyes, oh they drive me insane.

A nasty chase and we meet again.

And I wonder if you'd like to stay.

Your skin shines bright like an afterglow.

Your laugh's a symphony, oh I wish I could own.

Your love is a cure, I'm a ruined soul.

And I wonder if you'll ever know.


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3 years ago

What can life offer anyway

That I can't have with you in death?

What feels more like home anyway

Than it does besides your grave?


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2 years ago

Your eyes that once looked like home

Now look like weapons that killed me.

Your face that once spelled out love

Now spells out grief to me.

.

You once were my cure from humanity,

Now I guess I was never meant to heal.

What once brought out the best in me,

Now brings out the poet in me.

.

Your soul that once meant beauty,

Now means emptiness and vain.

Our love that once made us soulmates,

Now makes us strangers again.

.

Your fictive touch, my anxious rush,

Now I know how grief feels.

Your gentle words and brittle oaths,

Now finally I let you ruin me.


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2 years ago

If life is a cold, harsh night

You are the moon that makes it bearable

For what other thing would thrive?

Even in the most monstrous forms of dark?

If to love is to rest

Then I will perceive death for you.

For what greater form of rest do we know?

Than to lie in the cold, dark earth forever?

If to long is to grieve

Then I shall make home of a funeral

For what harsher grief it is?

Than to irreversibly lose someone


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The poem as prey, as blood luscious, elusive. The poem as the locked room.

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