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Originally Posted by Uncle Smoov
The other night I was cutting deep gashes into my body, like I do every night, and I was rushed to the hospital and got 666 stitches. All the doctors taunted me and told me to kill myself as they stitched my dark wounds shut. I have bipolar and depressed and I also have self-injury (SI). I usually SI (or self-injury) when I'm having an attack of schizo which I was diagnosed with by an online quiz that I took about seven times. Here's some poetry I wrote on the subject. DON'T PLAGIARIZE MY WORK PLZ!11111111
death
death kills life without ramorse
An it lasts for eternely
The great dark escape is what we strive for
But we can never be atainned to it
oh, my life is pain
Why cant i just end it!
As i cluch my; razer>rb> it glemes in the dark light of my agony room
i cut my dark viens
And they bleed cremsen warmth i love
They make me fell alive
As opose to my dead haert
my friend knife
I take my gnife
it makes me hapy to have it so close
like the pain; off my black hart
that I am eraising
I am abandaned and suicidel
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This moved me. My own cremsen warmth flows through me, yes, but it's only when I set it free that I am truly alive.