Craving

The cravings are driving her mad.
The crawling sensation beneath her skin.
She can trace the path on her arm.
The path the blade would make.
Insanity is closing in on her “stable” mind.
It is a wonder her lip is not broken, with how hard she bites it.
Bruises arise from the bands she snaps against her skin.
Nothing works.
She will lose control.

Memories

They stung, she said.
She was in so much pain the next morning.
It hurt to sit, to breathe.
She showed me the incisions.
I smothered my fear.
I had to be strong for her.
She was the one in pain, not me.
I never knew what a danger she was.
She would not live much longer.

Memories

She lay topless on the floor.
Crimson lines formed twisted patterns on her torso.
Her mind was blurred, drugged, confused.
The razor glinted in the light.
Slashing, slicing, separating.
Minuscule beads of blood dotted her pale skin.
She cut into her stomach and hips, into the undesirable excess weight.
Attempting to destroy it, instead destroying herself.
Her chest became a grid of flayed skin.
Her abdomen a random collection of bloody stripes.
The scars would take months to fade.
Her mind would never heal.

Memories

She gazed past me with those huge, lost eyes.
Seeing the memories playing behind her eyes.
She was so pulled together when she walked in, smiling and chatting.
And now tears slipped slowly, so slowly, down her cheeks.
“I don’t… I can’t… Why?”
Over and over again I heard those words.
I only had so many answers, so many explanations.
Some made no sense, just words to fill the void her confusion was progressively enlarging.
I saw the signs of her old ways, cracking through the layers of bandages they were hidden under.
Agitated, she rubbed her left forearm.
Clenched the fist, relaxed, clenched again.
Gripping the left wrist, where she had carved a death sentence that was never fulfilled.
She was right in thinking her years of hurt would never fade from memory.
She was a year clean now, a year without giving in to cravings, and she still desired, still needed.
Perhaps she was never meant to have peace.

Memories

I could see her, crumpled on the floor of my mind.

Beads of blood leaving crimson streaks on her pale, ruined forearms.

My breaths came quicker, tension tightened the muscles of my back.

I could feel her pain.

The phone rang twice. Three times. Four…

She answered.

I asked what she was doing.

She knew what I meant.

She knew I knew.

She whispered an apology, said she couldn’t help it.

I knew then she was dying.

I wanted to call someone, anyone.

The ER, her parents, someone who could stop her.

Instead, I sat, and listened to her attempt to carve death into her arms.

Eventually, we hung up.

I left her, to finish by herself.

I abandoned her.

She sent me a final message, a goodbye.

I spent the night on my knees.

A message, before dawn.
She was alive.

In a pathetically literal sense, she was alive.

She was hospitalized a few days later.

Here for You

Open your lips and let the words pour out.
Drown me in your sorrows, your hopes, your fears.
Express to me a deeper level of you.
I may judge, but I will never turn away.
I live to hear the stories of others.
I exist to ease their pain.
I pray I may have the skill to do so.
Or else I breathe in vain.
Shed this silent, stony facade.
Show me your smile, shed your tears.
I will be the someone to laugh with,
Or the shoulder to cry on.
Whatever you need,
I can be there.
My arms are already waiting for you.
Now it’s your choice to find comfort in them.

Suicide

People have told me that to take your own life is brave thing.
“What courage,” they say.
“How hard it must be.”
It is not so.
It is a weak thing.
You are not sacrificing yourself, but relieving yourself.
You get to this point where every breath is sickening, every time you wake fresh misery awaits, where even sleep become painful.
Everything is dark, cold, harsh.
Life is unbearable.
It does not take courage.
It takes desperation.
For so long, you have tried.
Not for yourself.
For everyone around you.
Tried so hard, you are living for them.
Even if they don’t seem to notice you alive, they’d notice you dead, and it would hurt.
So you keep breathing.
You hide the collection of pills.
You bundle up the rope and stow it in a drawer.
Pushing forward.
For them, for them.
Until one day you break.
That’s it.
No more.
They are not worth it.
You finally appease your needs.
And you open your vein.
Down the drugs.
Slip the noose about your neck.
And are relieved.

Healing

I’ve lost count of the days.
That’s how long it’s been.
Amazing…
So much easier now.
Of course, still have my moments.
I smile now.
Laugh.
Easily.
Regularly.
I have no desire to die.
To the point where, if I had the choice, I’d choose not to.
How far I have come.

Memories

Laughter ripples through my daze.
I glance up, surprised.
A pretty girl, blonde and thin, leans on the shoulder of a dark haired young man.
He smiles softly over her angelic head.
Her face is hidden.
My throat tightens, my stomach knots.
The love pouring from him is so pure.
I remember, clearly, love.
Being loved.
I remember my skin tingling under his touch.
Smiling after his kiss, watching his eyes while I returned his affection.
I remember his taste, his voice, his hands, his feel.
And I remember sitting with him, when we were younger, and leaning on his shoulder, and laughing.
But the beautiful memories, their perfection, is marred by another memory.
When I ruined everything.
That day is eternally in my mind, nagging silently at the back of my head.
Would I do it over again?
I don’t know.
I suppose not.
Whether or not I had finally acted, I would still have been the same way.
Just without the expression.
So if it is better for him to be with someone else, then I truly don’t believe I would take it back.
I do miss him though.
We were so in love.
The young man stands and helps the girl to her feet.
Close together, they walk away.
He casts one look over his shoulder, meeting my gaze.
I brush away the tears and turn away.

Craving

Hunger wakes inside of me.
I have been deprived for far too long.
My veins writhe with agony.
Desperation tightens my jaw.
Sixty five days now that I have starved myself,
Fought my needs with hardening self control.
My skin crawls with remembering,
My pulse quickens with ecstasy.
I can feed on the liquid,
Thrive on the crimson flow.
Still the fragile skin is stained
From my moments of beautiful release.
My tongue remembers the flavor
My lips recall the feel.
My heart will twist with yearning
Until my want is appeased.