Copyright, Stacey

My soul deflated, I am left to stand
alone in a pile of deceitfulness and broken promises.
No power to move - each step will bring the
painful bite of memories past.
I pick them up, each by one and
carve their sorrow into my flesh
taking back control once again.

If I Had a Knife

Copyright, Stacey

If I had a knife,
I’d carve the pain into my arm
So I wouldn’t have to feel it in my heart

I’d let the blood drip — warm and wet
Over my cold skin, splashing as it hit the floor
In its pool of morbid crimson

Each drop would be a new heartache,
Bearing its own secrets
In the red silent stream

If I had a knife,
I could show the world the truth,
The storm that rages in me
Would dance upon my skin

If I had a knife,
There would be no need to scream,
No tears would have to fall
I would feel nothing

A Disclaimer

I said ‘If I had a knife’ I’d feel no pain
But I had a knife… or a razor blade
And I put that pain on my arm — well, my leg
And I let the blood substitue for my tears (well, I tried)
But when the blood came, smooth and quick
The tears followed, just as rapid
And the twinge on my skin does nothing to mask the throbbing in my heart


Copyright, Stacey

I never knew what it was like
To truly be alone
To really have no one -
Until now.
I realized it the other day
Sitting here in my room,
Phone in one hand, razor in the other,
A dark cloud enveloping my person
My finger started to punch a number,
But then I remembered, he’s no longer there
I frantically thought of another,
Then that thought, too, shattered in mid-ari
I looked in my other hand and screamed at that cold piece of metal,
‘Look what what you did! You drove them all way!’
It cast back my own reflection


Copyright, Stacey

Tears gush like they never did before
Dams of sadness bursting and pouring in torrents down my face
Suddenly, it all stops
Again, I fell divided from my feelings
They tumble and roar within me, but I am restricted from letting them emerge
Bound from expresing how I feel on the inside,
I try to show it on my skin
Sharp quick slashes with the razor
Retracing the blade - deeper and deeper
Now it is blood I am crying
Screaming to the world, ‘Fuck you! I’m not ok!’
The etchings on my forearm, the slices on my legs -
they all cry
‘Help me!’
My eyes remain dry.


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