Copyright, Claire

She was looking for something to slice.
Paper wrists, the paint never soaked through.
Mediocre tunes played from a guitar.
No meaningful lyrics just plain raw rhythm.

She could never write anything meaningful.
Bear in mind, she was just 14.
But at that age, everyone accomplished something great.
..Left alone, she was always fucking left alone.

Maybe that’s the way she liked it.
She didn’t say much, we wished she had though.
But suprisingly she had nobody in the world
To fall back on, no shoulder to cry on.

And when she stood on a stage, it was like on a gravestone.
Cold, numb and surroundings very familiar.
She was blessed in a talent so beautiful.
The ability to make people listen to her voice. She sung.

After that, people wanted to be her.
‘Why the fuck would they want to be me’, she thought.
‘I have a death wish,
No one could make it theirs.’

So when she disappeared, the shock took over.
She sliced paper wrists, and took capsules just in case.
If she should reappear in a hospital somewhere.
She’s purely died.

That’s the way she would have liked it.


Copyright, Claire

Amethyst sparkled drearily in the light.
She had no hope for herself and died.
The blood which seeped through her open wounds,
Stained the tombstones and opened up an escape.
A vortex if you please.
Into that hole, she fell
Bruising her brittle body.
But what can black and blue do, when red swallows the skin whole?

Here comes the Judgement Brigade.
Ready to take unwanted beings.
Maybe that includes all of us.
We’re all like Amethsyt.
We have no hope.

Blood replaces ashes and scatters over skulls.
Into a fierceful night, it’s colder than it comes.
When we play our merciful songs.
We appear to have no hope, we’re sunken in our bodies.
Shallow eyes, shallow graves…
Can you feel the pull of death…

God forbid, I feel no escape.
Have mercy.
Did I want to be born like this.
I have no other objections.
Judge me all you wish.

The rememberance of a vortex…
Swallowing the guilty.
We’ll have nobody on this frightful earth.
We are all guilty.
Of one thing or another…

Another Scar Is Added To The Collection

Copyright, Claire

Take a deep breath, honey
It’ll be okay.
Another day of anger and lonesome depression.
It’s on today.
Don’t reach for the rusty razor, honey
It’ll be okay.
Just hold my hand when you feel
You’re slipping away

Take a wild ride, honey
Time will soon tell
The excitment isn’t enough
To cure your depressed spell.
Take a trusty sword, honey
And fight the demons away
Don’t make your fists bleed
Hitting something real

Listen to the music, honey
Let it make you happy
Let it make you drift off
Into a world of fantasia

Don’t reach for the razor blade, honey
Don’t make yourself bleed to death.
If you find yourself trapped
Don’t scratch it away

Today I was eighteen
So I added eighteen cuts
Here is my personal collection,
My collection of scars.


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