“Self Mutilation” – Poetry

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SELF MUTILATION
Poetry excerpt from Demonic Lulladies.

© Sitarra “LullaDIEs” Sefton

Tonight is when,
You did it again….

… Nothing is okay…
The agony you endure day after day,

Causes your soul to morn.
… I wish I’d never been born…

Your soul is in distress.
You slice through your human flesh,

With a jagged kitchen knife.
… The metallic sting has me enticed…

You’re searching for warm liquid.
This pain is self inflicted.

It’s better than the world’s strife,
It’s my choice; your skin to splice.

The open wound gushs red.
Hopefully soon, you’ll be dead.

That’s what you deserve,
If you think your life a curse.

You’re too weak to rise to the challenge,
Pity from all you actively scavenge.

No one cares if you weren’t loved enough,
Did you get the memo? This is survival of the tough.

So stand up, don’t lay on the floor.
Welp, too late. Gah, what a bore.

The major loss of blood,
Leaves you physically numb.

All emotional feelings parish,
… This emptiness is my fetish…

Your crimson juice trickles down,
Smacking against the ground.

This is your blood offering.
For an end to my suffering,

Is what I hope to finally buy,
Without leaving a written goodbye.

You need to learn this harsh lesson,
Before you die for some ignorant reason.

It’s not meant to be easy or nice,
Wanna live? You have to fight!

When life hits you, call it a bitch,
And dare that fucker to do it again!

Why? Because I’m strong enough to take it.
This is what life’s all about; a fight pit.

From this world you want to depart.
But realize pain and termoil are parts,

of our nightmarish reality,
But I’ve reached my capacity.

That’s such a pathetic excuse,
Used by the dumb and confused.

It’s not like anyone gets out of life alive,
Don’t be a coward and at least fucking try.

The torture hasn’t even begun,
With you, Life’s just started the fun.

So hang in there, and if you can’t just die,
Don’t let yourself become another, Failed Suicide.

I’m fourteen and can’t take anymore heartache,
Deep inside, I can feel my soul break.

Ah, teenagers. Depression is wasted on the young.
Oh, wait. That’s offensive. I should hold my tongue.

I need to find a politically correct way to say this…
You’re pathetic. Here’s a gun. Don’t miss.

I’m sorry, there’s nothing more I can take.
Your wrist begins to throb and ache.

No one’s coming through that door,
No one can save me from my internal war.

No one wants to attend your pity party,
Everyone’s going to be more than tarty.

So just lay there all night; bleed and cry,
It’s too bad you wouldn’t actually die.

My life is a sick, twisted cartoon.
All happiness leaks from your wound,

Leaving behind a cruel poison.
Acting as your mental prison,

Is your own suffocating sorrow.
I dread the coming of tomorrow.

I hope this latest cut will suffice,
To bring about your final demise.

You begin getting dizzy.
The room becomes hazy,

A normal side effect.
You just wish to correct,

The mistake of your birth,
By riding in a hearse.

Lay down and fall into a deep sleep.
Just as unconsciousness begins to creep,

Like in previous instances,
Your last waking thought is,

“I am living a pathetic existence.
There’s nothing here of significance.

I am truly worthless.
The world is ruthless.

I hope I don’t live to see day break.
If there’s a God, don’t make me wake.”

But, in my mind I know you will,
Always too little blood is spilled,

You never seem to cut deep enough.
I wish the Reaper would call your bluff.

Self hatred is the infestation,
To this newest generation.

It’s a waste of time for you to pray,
Through self mutilation, God you betray.

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