Authoress Notes: I wrote this while crying. The basis for this is that I go through getting picked on and teased -- even by my own parents -- each day and I hope that if anyone can see this, that they'll try to be nicer and help others because of what this deals about. How would you feel if someone you picked on commited suicide?
~*~
Sometimes she wishes they could see
How many times it happens, one two three
More than that, so much more
Amidst broken glass, cuts and bright red gore
She can't stop herself, it feels so right
and she curls up and cries herself to sleep at night
Knowing the truth is growing weaker, the lies growing stronger
And she wonders, how much longer
until she finally does it, and cuts too deep
sent on a crimon tide, towards ever lasting, never dying sleep.
The pain, it stings
the agony and peace it brings
to her tragic, horrible life
that she slowly ends with the knife
the blood, it flows, from her wrist to the floor
and as she collapses, she thinks...never more
The glass is smooth, beneath her finger
and the scars on her wrist, of the past they linger
on and on until she breaks down
and never notices, as she hits the ground
shes tired of it all, pain and rejection
and the way this feels, like a drug injection
It all becomes too much, too quick, too soon
the hidden emotions bottling like a monsoon
soon to break, to rise the tide
and makes her wonder if she should have died
And she can't stop it, if she tried
she can't count the times, the ways she's lied
her way out of being found out, of her secret revealed
she wears the lies and mask like a shield
against all intrusions, against everything
and the way the gash begins to sting
each throb, each pulse, a scream for salvation
that will never reach this angel of damnation
And so she keeps doing it, time after time
each day shortening her thin life line
to her school, her friends, who never see
the fear, the insanity, deep rooted agony
that she hides inside herself, lock and key
that tries to break her and make her see
that the more she tries to make it longer
the stronger the monster
She'll try and make it through each day
smiling and laughing, trying to see a way
a desperate plea, a scream of pain
that is never heard, lost in the rain
of tears that fall, one at a time
and enforce that she's slowly losing her mind
to the monster, the temptation of the blade
and to the scars on her skin, the mistakes she's made
Keep on trying to deny that her life, it's fading
and the longer she struggles the monster she's baiting
to keep her alive, just a little longer
to make herself, just a little bit stronger
in hopes of convincing herself that, perhaps some night
she'll throw away the blade and head towards the light
On each night that she repeats this horrible sin
that she cannot control as her life wanes thin
in the long battle that's been waging forever
and she grips the knife, knowing it's now or never
if she gives up now, her hand like lead
she knows, deep down, she's as good as dead
Fighting the monster is like fighting a semi-truck
each moment, each second, insurmountable luck
that she's still alive
and trying to survive
because she knows, of those who know her
that she can't let them down, can't let herself sink lower
into the dark abyss that consumes her life
in a never ending pit of agony and strife
The fact that she's still alive is a miracle, none the less
and each second she breathes is a way to fight the mess
that she's become, scared and insecure of trust
that her faith in herself and the others is a must
to be able to head towards that light some day
and leave the monsters and demons in decay
Monster is not drugs, nor alcohol
it's her high, no need for menthol
she doesn't know if she's higher or lower
than those who shoot up -- are they above or beneath her?
Maybe she'll never know about either one
and all she knows is the battle against the monster will never be won
~*~
Ending Authoress Notes: If you'll notice the bold title of each poem verse, it makes a sentance. And this is based on real stuff. I didn't make this up. It's all true.