Silent Screamer

This is a question for all of you.

If your friend is a cutter, and so are you, would it be best to: let your friend cut and if they need some more blades, give them some, or try to get your friend to stop even though you have the slightest idea that they will stop..??

How come I can see your whole life story and tell when you’re are lieing in your eyes,

But you can’t see my one emotion or tell when I’m lieing in mine?

My mo just knowticed all my new cuts on my wrist and two on my stomach.

Since I always wear bracelets, she thought it was from that.

Thank god.

I can’t cry.

I can’t honestly smile.

I can’t show my emotions all of a sudden.

I actually can’t.

I miss it when I could.

Go to sleep and close your eyes,
And dream of broken butterflies
That tore their wings against a thorn.
You know the pain that they have endured

Silver metal shine so bright
Scarlet blood that feels so right.
Dream of that blood trickling down,
And wake up just before you drown.

The moonlight shining off your tears
As you bleed out your worst fears.
So tonight when you start to cry
Whisper the cutters lullaby: Hushabye baby, you’re almost dead You don’t have a pulse and your pillow is red.
Your family hates you
Your friends let you bleed
Sleep tight with a knife,
Cause its all […]

Cuts don’t have to be big,

To be bad.

The longest cut, could not be deep.

But the shortest, always can.

The only thing I want for my birthday,

Is a pocket knife.

And I wish it was for protection.

But, of course, its for cutting.. And hopefully suicide..

The thing is.. Most of my friends and family are most likely gonna get it for me.

I couldn’t be more thrilled and terrified.

Instead of texting in class..

I’m cutting.

Instead of talking gossip at my sleepovers with one or two friends..

We are telling suicidal stories, cutting, and anything else dealing with suicide.

Instead of being addicited to drugs..

I’m addicited to cutting.

I was planning on overdosing tonight..

All relying on you, the love of my life, texting me back..

You didn’t.

I’m gonna try to overdose.

I’m gonna write my suicide note and everything.

And if all else fails.

I will write on this website to let you all know, that I’m still on this dreadful planet Earth.

I am nothing but a nuesence in evrybody’s life.

Why can’t I be the one that everybody cares about.

The perfect body.

The perfect face.

The perfect girl.

The perfect life.

The Perfect.

But nope.

I don’t look at scars like scars.

I look at them like accessories, that I’m too afraid to show off.

Afraid of the responses I will get.

I’m so tired.

Tired of acting like I’m happy.

Tired of pretending that I’m ok.. As if anyone cared to ask.

Tired of existing.

Tired.

I just wish I could go to sleep.

And stay asleep.

It’s 8.. At night.

I’m sitting here.

Alone.

I’ve never been more happy.

Not caring what happened anymore.

Her legs gave out.

And as her, scarred up body, hit the floor.

She remained unscaved.

But her heart, was torn into a million pieces.

Her heart with scars of course.

Please.

Please.

Tell me that you’re still here.

Think twice.

Put that razor down.

Stop writing that suicide note.

Stop counting down the time until you’re gonna end it.

Stop debating when youre gonna kill yourself.

Just stop – stop anything dealing with suicide or cutting or anything.. That you know is not good.

And listen to music.

Turn it up, do all you can thing about is that song.

Drown yourself in your favorite tunes.

Just please.

For me?

Don’t do anything.. Suicidal.

Yesterday, my dad saw my fresh cuts.

He asked me what they were, and what happend.

I said they were cuts that I got from my wrist rubbing against my school’s brick wall.

Just a week before.

He said he would tell if I was lying and that he was always 150% right.

You were wrong.

Once again.

Thanks Dad.

Let’s talk.

You need help?

I’m here.

Email me?

Feelthesame9991@yahoo.com

I love to run, cut, and hold my breath.

I love to do anything that makes me run out of breath.

And yes, cutting does make me run out of breath. Why? I don’t know.

But, the feeling of my pulse going fast and me worthless air leaving my body, and my heart running out.. Is just so thriving.

It make my crave for death even stronger.

I love it.