The content of these pages may contain "triggering" material.
The content of these pages may contain "triggering" material.
Pixie Cutter
She cuts her arms in fits of despair
Hiding in the darkness wishing to reach out
I view her wretched body, wanting to shout
She doesn't see me or how much I care
Her body dove white, red tainting fair.
Terrified I watch her with eyes turning wet
yet grossly consumed by this freakish behavior
She looks upon me as though I'm her savior
Saying she's fine, I can't help but fret
Remembering the scars from the first time we met.
Why can't she see that this isn't the way?
The screws dig yet deeper in the flesh of her skin.
Blood leaks out everywhere, expunging all sin.
Still I sit speechless, unsure what to say
I sense a strange debt that she feels she must pay.
Finally she stops and stews in her shame,
calmly cleaning the life-force that's dripped on the floor
barely managing to stand as she leans on the door.
Compared to earlier, she now seems to tame
Foolishly I wonder if it was all just a game.
Deep down inside though I know that's not true
Never before has she looked so small and frail...
I want to say something but her skin is so pale.
No words will come for her eyes are so blue
Searching my own for some sort of clue
Acceptance or otherwise she won't find in me
I make sure instead she sees nothing but love
along with a smile from heaven above
She answers my warmth as though it was key,
Giving a grin as she's finally set free.
By Mary
My Road to Happiness
Deeper and deeper
the cuts do grow
Faster and faster
the blood does flow.
Oh what a bitch,
that one'll need a stitch.
How will I explain all of this?
Have I fallen too far into the abyss?
The blood is still dripping,
a puddle has formed.
I need to get out
or I'll surely be stormed.
I paint my chest crimson
with a bloody red rag.
I beat myself blue
with a belt and a nag.
My knuckles are bruised
from punching the walls
but then, with a knife
in my hand, someone calls.
But that murmur is only
a voice in my head
telling me stop
or soon you'll be dead.
And then a soft whimper,
a tear down my cheek
My face is all wet
from the water I leak.
Then soft, sweet serenity
I feel in my bones
A feeling of happiness,
then start the moans.
I could end it now
but the blood would stop bleeding
And then who would take over
when my joyfulness needs feeding?
So for now I just sit
and relish this feeling
with a smile on my face
and my eyes on the ceiling.
Tomorrow I might
finish the deed
but for the time being,
I sit here and bleed.
By Mary
I welcome the contributions of others who self-harm or have done so in the past. Send us your writing, or arrange to send us your art or music by e-mailing ZANNE or RAZOR at zanne@cea.edu
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Check out SCAR, a zine on the
subject of scars and self-harm. The content of these pages may contain "triggering" material. |
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to CUTTERS, a
page on the subject of people who self-harm. The content of these pages may contain "triggering" material. |
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to The History of Child Abuse |
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Contents Under
Pressure Razor's writing about experiences she had during a 13 year
bout with DSH and five times she was institutionalized. |
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to Leap Frogge Leap was locked up in mental institutions when she was a kid. Leap refers to them as "the Institutes." |