By Category: Self-Destruction

“Cut my life into pieces
I've reached my last resort, suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding
Would it be wrong, would it be right
If I took my life tonight, chances are that I might
Mutilation out of sight and I'm contemplating suicide.”

-Last Resort, Papa Roach

Recommended by Phantom of Sadness.

~

“Suicide is just a moment, Lexy told me. This is how she described it to me. For just a moment, it doesn't matter that you've got people who love you and the sun is shining and there's a movie coming out this weekend that you've been dying to see. It hits you all of a sudden that nothing is ever going to be okay, ever, and you kind of dare yourself. You pick up a knife and press it gently to your skin, you look out a nineteenth-story window and you think, I could just do it. I could just do it. And most of the time, you look at the height and you get scared, or you think about the poor people on the sidewalk below - what if there are kids coming home from school and they have to spend the rest of their lives trying to forget this terrible thing you're going to make them see? And the moment's over. You think about how sad it would've been if you never got to see that movie, and you look at your dog and wonder who would've taken care of her if you had gone. And you go back to normal. But you keep it there in your mind. Even if you never take yourself up on it, it gives you a kind of comfort to know that the day is yours to choose. You tuck it away in your brain like sour candy tucked in your cheek, and the puckering memory it leaves behind, the rough pleasure of running your tongue over its strange terrain, is exactly the same.... The day was hers to choose, and perhaps in that treetop moment when she looked down and saw the yard, the world, her life, spread out below her, perhaps she chose to plunge toward it headlong. Perhaps she saw before her a lifetime of walking on the ruined earth and chose instead a single moment in the air.”

-The Dogs of Babel, Carolyn Parkhurst

~

“What's it like, Lexy? You wake up and you feel - what? Heaviness, an ache inside, a weight, yes. A soft crumpling of the flesh. A feeling like all the surfaces iniside you have been rubbed raw. A voice in your head - no, not voices, not like hearing voices, nothing that crazy, just your own inner voice, the one that says 'Turn left at the corner' or 'Don't forget to stop at the post office,' only now it's saying, 'I hate myself.' It's saying, 'I want to die.'”

-The Dogs of Babel, Carolyn Parkhurst

~

“Aah...don't even think about gettin' inside
Voices in me head...ooh, voices
I got scratches, all over my arms
One for each day, since I fell apart.”

-Footsteps, Pearl Jam

Recommended by Cassie.

~

“I held the blade in trembling hands
Prepared to make it but just then the phone rang
I never had the nerve to make the final cut.”

-The Final Cut, Pink Floyd

~

“The woman is perfected.
Her dead
Body wears the smile of accomplishment.”

-Edge, Sylvia Plath

~

“It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get at.”

-The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath

~

“Cold glass, how you insert yourself

Between myself and myself.
I scratch like a cat.

The blood that runs is dark fruit---
An effect, a cosmetic.

You smile.
No, it is not fatal.”

-The Other, Sylvia Plath

~

“One night she hid the pink cotton scarf from her raincoat in the pillowcase when the nurse came around to lock up her drawers and closets for the night. In the dark she had made a loop and tried to pull it tight around her throat. But always just as the air stopped coming and she felt the rushing grow louder in her ears, her hands would slacken and let go, and she would lie there panting for breath, cursing the dumb instinct in her body that fought to go on living.”

-Tongues of Stone, Sylvia Plath

Recommended by kalee.

~

“My best friend would be the man who gave me a pistol that I might blow out my brains.”

-on his deathbed, Edgar Allan Poe

~

“A decade of cutting away
dead flesh, cauterizing
old scars ripped open over and over
and still it is not enough.”

-Toward The Solstice, Adrienne Rich

~

“World, if the razor slips. And I kill myself, then who would piss you off everyday?”

-Tony Rodgers

~

“There's no such thing as an ex-junkie.”

-Henry Rollins

~

“War going on inside my head. I can't get to sleep. I'd rather be dead. Don't try to tell me, I can't hear your words. I'm not long for this world.”

-Henry Rollins

Recommended by Tricia.

~

“The colors have built up in my mind
They're bleeding through my heart
And nobody knows that they exist
Look at my bursted veins
Now do you see the red in me
It's a sign for the end

Only the end of the red
Will show you my blue side

I've been given my brush and plate
But where will I paint my life
And will the buyer in the sky
Believe in what I dream
And it's so hard for me to explain
What I will miss
To myself.”

-Blueside, Rooney

Recommended by Bonna.

~

“I don't know a lot about her
But she, she knew a lot about me
Her family seemed to love her
If what they say is true
Her friends all share the good times man
That girl has love
That girl has I, I didn't have a clue then
That a kiss would change my whole life again
She walked into my room
When I was all alone
She told me I would date her from September till December
She doesn't know things will never be the same again
She'll always be seventeen
That girl has love
She kept all the pain inside
Now she has got nothing to hide
At such a young age she took her own life
Now she's seeing things that come in our dreams at night
She's a dreamer
That was too real to ever be fake
That was too srong to ever be forgotten
That girl has love.”

-That Girl Has Love, Rooney

Recommended by Bonna.

~

“Anyway, I'm sort of glad they've got the atomic bomb invented. If there's ever another war, I'm going to sit right the hell on top of it. I'll volunteer for it, I swear to God I will.”

-The Catcher In The Rye, J.D. Salinger

~

“E. Edward Grey: Why do you cut yourself, Lee?
Lee: I don't know.
E. Edward Grey: Is it that sometimes the pain inside has to come to the surface, and when you see evidence of the pain inside you finally know you're really here? Then, when you watch the wound heal, it's comforting... isn't it?
Lee: I... That's a way to put it.”

-Secretary [movie]

Recommended by Dana.

~

“Each cut, each scar, each burn; a different wound or time. I told him what the first one was. I told him where the second one came from--I remembered them all. And for the first time in my life I felt beautiful. Finally part of the earth. I touched the soil, and he loved me back.”

-Secretary [movie]

Recommended by Kristin.

~

“My death from the wrists,
two name tags,
blood worn like a corsage
to bloom
one on the left and one on the right.”

-Menstruation At 40, Anne Sexton

~

“The pills are a mother, but better,
every color and as good as sour balls.
I'm on a diet from death.”

-The Addict, Anne Sexton

~

“Yes
I try
to kill myself in small amounts,
an innocuous occupation.
Actually I'm hung up on it.”

-The Addict, Anne Sexton

~

“But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build”

-Wanting To Die, Anne Sexton

~

“To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep:
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,--'t is a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there 's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there 's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels 13 bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.”

-Hamlet, William Shakespeare

~

“And I'm staring down the barrel of a 45,
Swimming through the ashes of another life
No real reason to accept the way things have changed
Staring down the barrel of a 45.”

-45, Shinedown

Recommended by Laura.

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