Only if You Knew the Taste of Blood...

I miss the blood, 

I miss the slits, 

The sharp end, 

Meeting my skin, 

To cut in,

And reveal the darkest of stories, 

The stories I never uttered to the 

world outside, 

And kept forever within...

No, not all the cuts were

made on the radial, 

Some covered the upper skin, 

And some on the palm, 

To feel the itch and the pain, 

To see the blood flowing, 

To see the mess, 

Created by myself.

Not every cut means an attempt, 

Not every attempt leads to the end, 

Few slits, 

Narrate the stories, 

Of self-destruction, 

Some mimic the society's sweetest words, 

Some ask to calm down, 

And think once again, 

Some say to go on, 

What you desire is nowhere there, 

Some orders to make it fast, 

Because it's very urgent for the dying soul to elope, 

And meet freshness, 

Some refuse to speak, 

They don't bleed, 

They remain silent, 

Just to be the future scar...

Then comes the final, 

The queen of all, 

The mercy giver, 

The deepest of all, 

To separate the single radial, 

To two different radials, 

Leaving space, 

For the blood, 

To ooze out and re-write the history. 

"Ending yourself isn't the only solution dear"

Right! I agree, we all do, 

Dear darling society, 

But..... 

Do you know why that end was brought into? 

Do you know why THE END was chosen, 

And not a restart? 

Not because, 

The beloved ran away, 

Not because it was fun, 

But because, 

The air enveloping the body, 

Refused to allow the soul to stay within, 

The soul was desperate, 

To leave, 

To see the world outside, 

It was tired of the world within, 

It was tired of gulping the slits made by words, 

It was tired of waking up till late nights, 

It was tired of telling lies, 

To hide the truth, 

And say, 

"I am fine."

To hurt your very self,

Isn't fun, 

Isn't easy, 

But the tired self does so, 

Not because the self is a coward, 

And wants to be the eloper.

Being the driest leaves of all, 

In that evergreen tree, 

The soul falls off, 

Like the autumn's fallen leaves, 

You'll step on the memories having me, 

And then to say, 

To show, 

That you're kind, 

And you remember, 

And you miss, 

Just to show,

You'd cry, 

Cry seeing the growing flame above me.

Feel the guilt within, 

Feel the insanity, 

Of seeing a corpse burning, 

Of being the reason of someone's end, 

Feel the end, 

Feel, 

Feel it, 

And you'll know, 

How you killed, 

Artistically, 

With the art of your words, 

The then living man. 

Feel your own fault, 

Be sorry, 

Sorry to yourself and to your deeds, 

I won't beg you,

To understand the rest who still lives, 

I'll order you, 

To feel the pain yourself, 

And understand what you weren't to do, 

And stop repeating it.

You dear darling, 

You don't need to waste your time, 

Just to be with a soul who needs help, 

Just do one, 

The tiniest of favours, 

Just don't hit the arrow of your 

Cunning words, 

And hit the vulnerable soul every time.

Cry only if you're sorry, 

Or else just don't come, 

Don't just come to the funeral,

I hate your presence,

I feel suffocated with your words, 

They kept me enveloped within the darkest of worlds,

Take them away, 

And let the fresh air come in, 

Let your suffocating words die,

And let peace lie

in me...

Let peace take over suffocation, 

Let the hatred meet love, and just

let me love myself... 

- Anonymous, 29.11.2020