Self-Harm Poetry

1817 poems on self-injury.net

Displaying 1451 - 1460 of 1817

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red lines
strange…it’s red
red water
in lines
red
all i can see is red
spurting
oozing
dripping
screaming
so red
red everywhere
i want more of it
it’s killing me.

but i take a step back
and look at it.
it is art,
blood drawings
beautiful sometimes

i feel the need
to make more drawings
terrible beauty
scratches on skin

now i feel better

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I promise, Katie, I won’t cut anymore.

Oh god

the blood red

so red
pouring out

gushing
need it to

need the red
need it to flow

to drift
on water

my wrists slit
but not enough to die

(yet)

Oh god I need to need

I need it so bad
that it’s killing me

as I want to slowly
kill myself

line by line
of red

upon my wrist

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Bleeding metaphors
I rip my heart, still beating, from my chest
pour it onto paper, stained with red ink
words and sentences clotting in the air
forming the metaphor of my life

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dancing blood stars, painted skin.
the snap.
razor tears like piranha devouring
the mask.

lead belly, pregnant with
lumps sliding downward.

sinking pellets of
crimson oceans

spectral phosphenes
dancing across fetid rotting
corpses of sentences i climb over

gears of anguish
undulations of was
and has and finished
amplified with
pauses and commas

the sand beneath my feet
sinks beneath my toes
sometimes it cannibalizes my psyche

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Alone
Surrounded by a swarm of insects they call people
They wish to feast upon me
Why?
What is it about me?
Why am I chosen to be the prey?
I’m exhausted.
From running.
From hiding.
From being chased my whole life
Maybe I should give up
Let them devour me
It’s what they want
Me to conform to their ways
Their language
Their look
But I won’t
Even the people who claim to be different are all the same now
So vain.
Such vain little creatures
I curse you

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These scars I bear upon my skin
show more than just my pain.
They show the battles I have fought;
the battles I have won.
These war wounds last to prove
I’ve faced the worst and lived.
They show me that the past is real.
They show me what I’m worth.
Strength is their strongest message
And courage is there too.
These scars remind me that
I have faced Death himself and defied his wish.
The skin and flesh may be broken
But the spirit remains unharmed.
Though everyday I take that bladde

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Why all the hate?
Where does it come from?
Just look at the kid. Take a long glare
You couldn’t even give him another
He doesn’t deserve all this
He doesn’t
He doesn’t
He’s just sad, he cried
So sad. So sullen.
So angry at people, especially you
A combo of sophistication, desires, sudden deaths
What else can you do?
People put their selfish, grotesque arms up and say:
Stop, go
Get lost, get over this.
You continue to torture him
You go on and burn him, slash him, scratch him
Look at his arms,
A slice, a dice, the permanence it’s achieved
It’s all your deeds, your deeds your doings
Why hurt him? Made him a masochist
Full of thirst for your uncompromising judgments
He screams, he shrieks
Never submitting but yearned for the pain
You stuff him pills, shoving him handfuls
When does it end. Suspended forever?
Diminished
Never
Those things. They sink down, down so low
They come up, up to grab your head and shake it hard
The world flattens, you flail
Those things. They never disappoint. Miraculous.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut the fuck up
Stop the mourning
Mourn for all your got? All you own?

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I am girl.
I am woman.

I am blonde.
I am brunette.

I have so many faces.
I have no face at all.

I live.
I bleed.

I die.
I whither.

I feel.
I ignore.

No one sees the real me.
I don’t see the real me.

Will I find her?
Is she inside me?

I can’t tell.
No one can tell.

Is she for real?
Is she make believe?

Until I find her I am many.
Until I find her I am none.

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silver glints in the light
a tormenting wink

reveals slowly a
red cotton thread

follow the line
let its river guide

drip … drip
tick … tock

crawling closer
even Christ would cringe

stumble past
a hundred stones
each the purest of white

Kiss the sand
Let the salt sting
vision blured

a collage of colour
red into white
then shadows fall

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I feel it seep,
blindly now

unseen, but not unfelt

I watch a thin trail
begin to appear

trace the pain
with my fingertips

pull back slowly
make way
for this army of scarlet

but what am I
to lead
these soldiers

fall back
carry me
on a thousand shoulders

Paint me red

Displaying 1451 - 1460 of 1817