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Emo? I think notSo, because I have cuts on my wrists, arms, legs, hips and stomach, I am Emo.
Emo is for losers with nothing better to do
Emo is a fad that people follow because it's "cool" to cut yourself.
Emo is a label applied to everyone who self harms, whether they are or not
Emo is a derogatory term used by teenagers to make fun of cutters
Emo is a word belonging only to those who have no REAL reason to be sad.
I, my friend, am a cutter...
Being a cutter is feeling completely worthless.
Being a cutter is feeling like your heart has been ripped to bloody shreds, without it's constant beat ever ceasing.
Being a cutter is not wanting to get up in the morning because you feel like no one would give a fuck if you weren't there.
Being a cutter is not knowing where you get the strength to continue living.
Being a cutter is considering suicide as the only way things will ever get any better.
Being a cutter is wishing for a serious accident to land them in the hospital to see if anyone cares
Is My Heart Broken?I don't understand
Why my heart beats the way it does
When I see your smiling face.
As I move my fingers
across the keys,
The letters forming
as if on
My MaskSo many nights with the razor to my wrist
so many scars that turn and twist
showing the pain, hurt and deceit
each and every day, doomed to repeat
My facade has been built
I wear my mask, but with guilt
why is it so hard to break down and cry
it hurts too much, even to try
My true self hidden behind a wall
to climb, its much too tall
break it down slowly, chip it away
maybe I'll be free one day
when the eastern sun sinksi wonder if you would
change your mind
find it in your
to feel a little something
if you saw the words
you've pulled from
uncovered by your lips,
i find poems under my hands.
i write strophes and lines
imprinted on your skin
when i move my fingers away.
i have so much to
i could give you so much
but you slink like a
nightcrawler from light
to a comfortable recession,
we will talk again
and no stammered heart
will beat like birds
if our hands touch;
you will realise
that sooner than you have,
you could have
shared your self
with someone else
and been safe-
you would have been
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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