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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
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![]() [Content warning: self harm, pills, blades, suicidal thoughts] I’ve been like myself for some time now, so long that mom thinks I’ve been cured and maybe I’m just faking it again, like they say I don’t remember when it began, but I know I heard them whispering and I know they sharpened their gilded onyx daggers, glittering in the shadows and I remember now, that unbearable agony painkillers won’t do away with I’ve tried trust me to hurt and heal and die I can’t be the pagan of good times that Hozier talked about nor one of Byron’s or Shelly’s
more like a Van Gogh, the scream dipped in yellow paint And now it’s just more pills down the toilet and flimsy blades underneath pillows It’s midnight breakdowns and bruised knuckles from punching the monsters blood, gore, battle scars One foot after the other, left, right, left, right, smile, speak, love, cry, die, Scar Three months to the follow up, been a year and the prescriptions say I’m doing better And maybe they will up the dosage again, some more pills, some more cash to splurge, Maybe the monsters are fake too Like the pain the obsidian shards Like the thousand scars on my beige tinted skin one for my first love, two for the school bully three, four, five, six and a hundred For the hurt, the betrayal, the agony and for me There are monsters in the mirrors now, Their voices scream at me in broad daylight and the ruby eyed vultures are looking for me again and the curtains still refuse to fall Maybe it’s just the heaven for the sinners harps and angels and golden goblets and skulls and fractured bones and the hemlock For it is just you and me now underneath my aching scathed skin shivering in frenzied passion for you named the stars after me, but my demons named their forever. Comments are closed.
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June 2022
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