Trying to Cope with the Razor

Copyright John

Broken down
pulled around
bloody raindrops
hit the ground

thinking of suicide
as my blood falls aside

abused and beaten
nobody cares
my wrists are bleeding
fatal prayers

alone and empty
i pick up the razor blade
sit myself down
and watch my life fade

angry slashes on my wrist
but the pain i can’t resist

i look in the mirror
what do i see
someone dead
oh it’s me.

One Day

Copyright John

Cut deeper and deeper, ‘til your emotions revealed, cut deeper + deeper, and your arms, never healed
Cut deeper and deeper ‘til the bad fades a way, u tell yourself you’ll stop, one day… one day

The guilt fill after the happiness dims, is like a tidal wave breaking over you, the happiness just the brim

The blood meanders down your defenceless arm,
Thus telling your body,
Be at a calm
It drizzles down your wrists,
And into your palms.

Oh the burning pain and desire,
To re-kindle that self harm fire
But we mustn’t
We must not give in,
But self harm, is it that much of a sin?

You patch yourself up,
That’s when the guilt settles in,
You see the blood
On the desk, on the chair,
It’s everywhere.
It sits its self in,
Your soul, your sin,

You pick up the blood stained tissue,
It’s flinged to the bin
You hear footsteps on the landing,
Some one coming in!
You brush away the tears, pull your sleeve down,
There hear, a witness to your sin.

They send you to a Clinic
That give you a leaflet
You bin it
They say they want to help you,
They say you need it,
But what the fuck do they know?
But your mother says:
You HAVE to go

You arrive,
Dressed all in black
You give them that look
The “please, give me some slack”
They sit you down in a room full of white,
And start talking, to you, its shite
The table,
The chair,
Even the shrinks dressed in white,
As you’re led in, you look back at your mother,
In spite.

They make you feel unwanted,
They make you feel alone,
They make you the hand with out the glove
The dog, without the bone.

They make you into a charity case,
And say “we feel it to”
But no they don’t,
‘Cause there no emotion used.

At last it’s over,
And your mum has a quick chat,
You look down at yourself in disgust
You say to yourself “I’m fat”
Next thing you know you’re in the car, going home
Hoping that your “problem” from here on, will be left alone

You site at home by the phone,
Waiting for that someone who said they’d call,
They didn’t,
You feel a crash, and a fall,
Tears start to brim in your eyes,
As you run up to your room,
Run up to the happiness, and away from the gloom
You swing open the door, and burst into tears,
As your little blue box with flowers nears,
Where you keep your friends,
Where you keep them safe,
Where you keep them,
That is, there place.

The flip up the lid of your box, and horror strikes
The razors,
The pencil sharpener
The scissors,
The blades ?
Soon your pre meditated happiness fades

You tear into the en suite to look what is there,
In the way of sharp objects, the bathroom is bare
Next stop mothers room,
Just past the stair,
You open the door,
And glare,
A pale razor on a hard teak affect dressing table
Looking bored,
It longed to cut,
It lived for more

Phhh… Life

Copyright John

Passing people by, Looking at their happy lifes, and starving my memorie, of any good times.
As i sit at bay, just near the peer, i hear people squabbling, chatting, drinking beer.
These poems i recite, they might, just may, stop soon because we wonder what horror’s round the corner today.
I cant say much about this life, only it IS life, and that what makes it shit, lifes a hell hole, a bottomless pit.
A meaningless cause, no end of doors, searching for present, futer, and past, we unluckily find, these memories last.
No more time to give, this life we live, we may not pleasure, but one thing we know, that YOU are treasure.
Wounds like crators, personality Quaking, life is shattered, heart is breaking.
What is this life, we have to answer for? locked outside, tantalised from more.
Telling a lie, sitting at night, wishing you’d die. Hoping from faces, you’d pick one out, that they would be be the one to love you, and so you could shout.
Shout out their name, in a desperate fight, against fear, depression, and this scarred life.
I hope one day, i can pray, stop the harm i do everyday. And one day i just may, keep my chin up day and day, And i hope that one day, i can say, i love this life, take in my strife, love in despaire, and now i care. But until that day, i have my tools, my razors, blades, and crimson pools


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