Before I would hurt a child, I would slit my wrists.
quote by Michael Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Then Had Flaws
Did you believe I would slit my wrists.
Because I realize,
A relationship between us did not exist?
I knew when entering it,
Baggage you carried.
And issues with honesty you could not face.
Remember...
I approached you.
Knowing all of that I chose to embrace.
Did you believe I would slit my wrists.
Because I realize,
A relationship between us did not exist?
What made you think I had no consciousness?
And who convinced you,
You were that attractive?
Remember...
I approached you.
Knowing all of that I chose to embrace.
And you then had flaws.
No matter how others,
May today discover none to erased.
You then had flaws.
And I remember all of it.
There will be no splitting of wrists of balling of fists,
Because of you.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Child Was Hurt
When I was a child you hurt me.
I was nothing but a mere girl.
I was only 5 years old.
I couldnt fight you couldnt fend you off.
A child was hurt.
A child was hurt for your fantasies.
That child was me.
I was only a wee girl.
A child was hurt.
It used to be a cool place to play.
It once was my faviorate place to go.
But you took that from me.
As well as raping me.
A child was hurt.
You said it was a game.
I knew it was rong.
It didnt feel right.
I begged you to stop.
You looked laughed and carried in.
A child was hurt.
A child was hurt.
I was so much smaller than you.
You towered over me.
You had the power.
And you didnt care.
A child was hurt
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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I'll Do Anything but That
Tell me to stay
I'll stay
Tell me to go
I'll go
Tell me to die
I'll die
But remember that
You told me to do it
You gave me the knife that slit my wrists
You built me the house I jumped off of
You showed me the cliff I dove from
You drove the car I crashed in
You owned the gun I shot
Tell me to love you
I will
Tell me to need you
I will
Tell me to hate you
I can't
Tell me you'll beat me
I will do it for you
Tell me you'll burn me
I will do it for you
Tell me you'll kill me
I will do it for you
Everything I do for you
Tell me to hurt
I have
Tell me to cry
I have
Tell me to die
I have
But tell me to hate you
I can't
I'll do anything but that
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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Valentines Day
She was the color of tv
Her mouth curled under like a metal snake
Although holy wood was sad
Theyd remember this as valentines day
Flies are waiting
In the shadow of the valley of death
In the shadow of the valley of death
Slit our wrists and send us to heaven
The first flower after the flood
I saw that pregnant girl today
She didnt know that it was dead inside
Even though it was alive
Some of us are really born to die
Flies are waiting
In the shadow of the valley of death
In the shadow of the valley of death
Slit our wrists and send us to heaven
The first flower after the flood
In the shadow of the valley of death
In the shadow of the valley of death
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Slit My throat
Tears are stained
against my cheeks
blood is gashed agaisnt the walls
all i have to say is slit my throat and lay me to sleep
I want out of this crule harsh world
everyone is mean to me
they hurt me
beat me
and make fun of me
Most of the time though
they end up hurting me
so as i cry out into the night
i want my last words to be
slit my throat and lay me to sleep
Lay me to sleep,
killme,
murder me,
do something, but if you do
slit my throat first
an lay me to sleep in a grave
poem by Dominique Lange
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The Little Slit in the Tail
I’M GLAD that the Bushmen can’t see me now
A-doing it tall in the town;
I’ve an inch-brimmed hat on my sun-burnt brow—
And my collar jumps up and down.
I’m wearing a vest that would charm a snake,
And a tie like a lost soul’s wail;
And I’m dressed in a coat of the latest make,
With a little slit in the tail:
With a little slit in the tail of it,
With a little slit in the tail.
My pants alone are a thing of joy,
And they’re built to show my bends,
With a crease behind and a crease before,
And a little curl in the ends.
I carry my nose-rag in my cuff,
And the lot should get me gaol—
I paid five guineas for my rig-out,
And one for the slit in the tail:
For the little slit in the tail of it,
For the little slit in the tail.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Valentine's Day
She was the color of TV
her mouth curled under like a metal snake
although Holy Wood was sad
they'd remember this as Valentine's day
flies are waiting
In the Shadow of the Valley of Death
In the Shadow of the Valley of Death
slit our wrists and send us to heaven
the first flower after the flood
I saw that pregnant girl today
she didn't know that it was dead inside
even though it was alive
some of us are really born to die
flies are waiting
In the Shadow of the Valley of Death
In the Shadow of the Valley of Death
slit our wrists and send us to heaven
the first flower after the flood
In the Shadow of the Valley of Death
In the Shadow of the Valley of Death
song performed by by Marilyn Manson from Holy Wood (In The Shadow Of The Valley Of Death)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fatalist
If you gave me what I wanted,
All the time.
You would not be on my mind...
Doubted.
If you gave me what I wanted,
All the time.
You would not be on my mind...
Doubted.
How can I be the one demanding,
If I'm there at your command?
You should have no questions about it,
To doubt it.
How can I be the one demanding,
If I'm there at your command?
You should have no questions about it,
To doubt it.
You make me think you're a fatalist.
No doubt about it.
No doubt about it.
You make me feel I could slit my wrists.
No doubt about it.
No doubt about it.
If you gave me what I wanted,
All the time.
You would not be on my mind...
Doubted.
If you gave me what I wanted,
All the time.
You would not be on my mind...
Doubted.
You make me think you're a fatalist.
No doubt about it.
No doubt about it.
You make me feel I could slit my wrists.
To see if this would make you happy.
How can I be the one demanding,
If I'm there at your command?
You should have no questions about it,
To doubt it.
You make me think you're a fatalist.
No doubt about it.
No doubt about it.
You make me feel I could slit my wrists.
To see if this would make you happy,
If I laid in blood bleeding.
If you gave me what I wanted,
All the time.
You would not be on my mind...
Doubted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Wasnt Me
It wasnt me who shamed you
Its not fair to say that
You wanted to work I gave you a chance at that
It wasnt me who hurt you
Thats more credit that Im worth
Dont threaten me with the things youll do to you
It wasnt me who shamed you
It wasnt me who brought you down
You did it to yourself without any help from me
It wasnt me who hurt you
I showed you possibilities
The problems you had were there before you met me
I didnt say this had to be
You cant blame these things on me
It wasnt me, it wasnt me, it wasnt me
I know shes dead, it wasnt me
It wasnt me who changed you
You did it to yourself
Im not an excuse for the hole you dropped in
Im not simple minded
But Im not father to you at all
Death exists but you do things to yourself
I never said give up control
I never said stick a needle in your arm and die
It wasnt me, it wasnt me, it wasnt me
I know hes dead but it wasnt me
It wasnt me who shamed you
Who covered you with mud
You did it to yourself without any help from me
You act as I couldve told you
Or stopped you like some god
But people never listen and you know that thats a fact
I never said slit your wrists and die
I never said throw your life away
It wasnt me, it wasnt me, it wasnt me
Youre killing yourself, you cant blame me
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She Sinful Or Wild
All or nothing at all
her father had said
and it seemed right
until she met Harpoon
and he seemed her
Mr Right the one she
had been waiting for
the one she'd dreamed
about but then it all
went wrong and he
became Mr Wrong
and oh yes that was
the downfall that was
the way to her deep
depression and that
episode in the bath
when she tried to
drown herself as her
mother had before her
and she discovered her
as a child coming home
from school and the
door was ajar and when
she went in there was
her mother with her
wrists slit and blood
and her mother drowned
and dead and now sitting
there in her mother's
chair her father some
place her husband poking
some other and all or
nothing at all seemed all
there was left apart from
the few books on the shelf
the Bill Burroughs her mother
had read and left and that
Bukowski book she'd found
in some second shop and the
battered Bible which her
father had beat her about
the head and backside with
as a child when her father
had been boozing or she
had been sinful or wild.
poem by Terry Collett
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Slit the wrist and let it flow.
Hate and pain, feelin’ it in my veins.
Hate and pain etched in my mind.
Love and hate are all the same,
Life and death are all our problems, but you treat them as there mine.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death are all the same in my mind.
Life and death are all the same,
Play with fire and get burned.
Accusations flying my way, will they ever stop?
Slit the wrist and let it flow.
Slit the wrist and let it flow.
Life and death are all the same.
Life and death, when will it end?
Anger and frustration all boiling to the top.
Vengeance and Violence seems to be the only way.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death, it’s all the same.
Life and death, is it my turn yet?
Death is living again.
Death is bliss I will never discover.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death, it’s all the same.
Life and death, a new fire is born.
Death is an eternal fire being blown out.
Death is being free from the shackles of life.
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Slit the wrist and let it flow! !
Life and death, it’s all the same.
Life and death, it’s our destiny.
Death is the only escape.
Death is the forth stomach of a cow.
By Ariel Morris.
poem by Ariel Morris
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I know a child
I know a child,
11 years old, and slices her wrists,
I know a child,
whose name is Elizabeth.
I know a child,
12 years old, and has a pervert daddy,
I know a child,
whose name is Maddie.
I know a child,
13 years old, and wants to die,
I know a child,
whose name is Ty.
I know a child,
14 years old, and came face-to-face with death,
I know a child,
whose name is Seth.
I know a child,
15 years old, and pregnant with a baby,
I am the child,
whose name is Sami.
poem by Sami Woodall
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This Child Of Rebellion
This child of rebellion
At last uprising.
The government- Machiavellian
Man, is it so surprising?
Many oppressed years
Under the fat cat
Now it's beyond tears
Viva the proletariat! .
So the bankers bonuses still survived
In their land of milk and honey.
The solution?
Turn to the deprived
To prop them up with public money.
Now students are angels with dirty faces.
No room for prudence
When fighting for places.
Yeah, sting the academic
To fund this sick pandemic.
MP's blame the 'hoodies'
So neatly they are labelled.
A case of 'baddies vs goodies'
Then they punish the disabled.
Yes, when recession darkens our door
It's the usual obsession- just hit on the poor.
Still ok for the capitalists
But those in squalor just slit their own wrists.
Yes, the looters and bullies have seized their chance
Nobody's pleased with their crazy war dance.
And our justified cause it fails to enhance.
Yet how could the common man be resistant?
After those expenses claimed
For the non- existant!
Our cripples of England now without a crutch.
This child of rebellion took only so much.
poem by Kevin East
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It's such a great feeling to make people laugh. I know I've made people cry or want to slit their wrists, but to make people laugh is a very intoxicating, wonderful thing.
quote by Joan Allen
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Suicide
Young friend of mine
Your thoughts are dark
You drank some wine
Somewhere in the distant park
You took a knife
Slit your wrists
It was night
You clenched you fists
Fearless fellow
My darling friend
Lowered to the ground
But did you repent?
You lie still
Under starry skies
Beneath a green hill
Your body resides.
poem by Anne Harkonen
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5 Attemps
5 suicide attempts
Each one failed
5 times to try and love you
Each one failed
1- Slit my wrists
Failed horribly
1- Kiss you again
Failed horribly
2- Hang myself
Over the edge
2- Hug you again
Over the edge
3- Gun to my head
I couldn't pull through
3- Look in your eyes again
I couldn't pull through
4- Yell to God to end my life
I couldn't talk
4- Try to talk to you again
I couldn't talk
5- Slit my throat
I didn't have the strength
5- Touch you again
I didn't have the strength
5 suicide attempts
Each one failed
5 times to try and love you
Each one failed
poem by Emily Wimetal
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Runaway Child
Runaway Child, don’t have to take it anymore
Runaway Child, just walk out of that door
Runaway Child, no more chances to take
Runaway Child, it’s your choice to make
Runaway Child, aren’t you sick and tired of the pain
Runaway Child, here there’s nothing to gain
Runaway Child, you get treated like dirt
Runaway Child, get away from the hurt
Runaway Child, here it’s no use
Runaway Child, get away from the abuse
Runaway Child, you don’t have 9 lives
Runaway Child, take that step or dive
Runaway Child, why are you still there
Runaway Child, how much pain can you bear
Runaway Child, you don’t have to say goodbye
Runaway Child, say goodbye, when they DIE!
poem by Patrick Harris
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Lifes a nightmare
A smack on my face a slit on my wrists
When everyday ends I feel like this
I'm sick of my heart leaving me defending
It leads me to places where there is no happy ending
Lifes a nightmare I just want to escape
But I don't think I can i've lost my fate
Tears and scars I try to hide
But theres always someone who noties after i've cried
I feel like crying out but I don't want to know it
I'd love some help but I don't want to show it
I'd rather it get deeper than look really sad
But the cuts are getting worse and it looks really bad
poem by Lisa French
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You Wanted To Know....
the starving child you saw on your tv screen,
the one that made you turn the channel.
the old homeless man who tried to bum a dollar
when you were pumping gas...
whose hands were shaking,
who smelled like trash,
who you made fun of when you left...
the one you gave 50 cents to,
just to get away from...
the young painted up girl you called a whore,
the guy strung out on pills
buying groceries with food stamps...
the veteran who came home
to find his family gone....
no job, no home, he blew his brains out!
the gay boy who slit his wrists,
tired of being bullied.
the old couple evicted broke and sick....
the bodies of women and children killed by the drones,
the young man in prison who just got gang raped.
the disabled woman you cursed when she made your change,
the old man buying dog food who doesnt have a dog...
well, you wanted to know what god looks like!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Hand Of God
Been gone more days this year than I have been home
Trading friends for trips to the coast
This hotel room feels more like a tomb
Been gone more days this year than I have been home
Trading friends for trips to the coast
This hotel room feels more like a tomb
It's not gossip if it's the truth
I'm sick of always writing songs for you to slit your wrists to
So which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
Hand over my heart, gun to my head
I swear to God I'm through with this
I am the worst liar I know
It's not gossip if it's the truth
I'm sick of always writing songs for you to slit your wrists to
So which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
Which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
(So which is it?) So which is it? Which is it? (So which is it?)
(So which is it?) So which is it? Which is it? (So which is it?)
(So which is it?) So which is it? Which is it? (So which is it?)
(So which is it?) So which is it? Which is it?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
Which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?
(Been gone more days this year than I have been home)
(Been gone more days this year than I have been home)
song performed by by Fall Out Boy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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