Self-Hate

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Stuck in a tightening bubble As the world around me floats I reach out to them But unable to pop the bubble I'm comforted in this isolation But yearning to pop it Simultaneously
  Dear self harm see you   and i have a love  And hate relationship I don't hate you but  You leave ugly scars  On my skin i don't 
‘are you okay?’ they ask, and i reply, ‘really, why are you worried? i swear, i’m fine.’ but i know that i’m really not okay that this is all a mask, a pretty face
My name, Thanatos, resides on all their minds.  Death personified right into its living and breathing form, finds itself in a graveyard as a gravedigger, greatly confined.
came to the house early my first house party first of the twelfth month stayed long after it was done   after the first handshake, the thought of me was a flake unwanted unneeded
Winter begins when our eyes meet We cast our icy stares at each other And I'm frozen where I stand I pound the glass in frustration You do the same The same idea must be crossing your mind
Sewing What can I say. What could I type. Words pop into my head Despite, The anger The wanting The need.
It’s the devil in DISGUISE, When you look into its eyes, You become mesmerized. An eater of souls and a dark cloud above, At one point you thought it was LOVE. You’d give up your LIFE just to have a TASTE.
Look at your face and your hair's small curls you may not be a stick, but you have the whole world in your hands, between your shoulders, and even in your thighs.
The sun never shines 
How does the narration convey the idea that Meursault is a simple man to the reader? He’s not  He’s not  He’s not He’s not He doesn’t have access his emotions He’s taking it day by day
It’s tiring to wear a mask Make sure it doesn’t crack Make sure it doesn’t reveal the truth Constant checking Constant fear
Can anyone love me? Would anybody be willing to withstand My horrible insecurity, The side of me I hide? Would you be willing to tell me  It will be alright, When you know I don't believe you?
Like a ballet dance on blades,Your mind is a fickle thing. Relevé, going fully en pointeOn razorblades,Slice your sole to sorry shreds--So very fucking sorry. 
I've shed so many tears, I have no more, And all that is left is a shell. A shell of a girl that I used to know, The girl that I still show. But no one knows what happens,
It started innocently in high school Entering those broad double doors Gazing at the slender and sleek girls Wishing I could be one of them   I was content with what I had Until I got those looks of
There’s a monster in my bed,
I've tried to put the pieces together to figure out why I ever cared.I think I tried fixing you, if I could do that simple task I would feel better.I couldn't fix you and I wound up falling for you.
To seem is to know you are broken somewhere with a seam stitched tight with self-awareness, an attempt at positivity but knowing still where the rip once was and seeming fine is fine enough
The ding of a bell, or the ring of a cell. The chirp of a bird, or the quiet word.
This world is small when looking at the universe,
I cannot do this
I am sorry
Why did I ever do that?
i feel as if those silencing thoughts mean no more than a whisper in the rain, because the rain can be so loud and whispers have no choice but to fade away. fade away.
The number, the size,the sanity, the happinesswane.  This is what you wanted, isn't it? Flat stomach, thigh gap,slim waist, and prominent bones,achieved.
My friends list has always seemed to lack like-minded people,
I will push you away.
BPD
Someday I'll be who I want to be.Someday I'll be safe.Someday I'll be away from self harm.Someday I'll be truly happy.Someday I won't be so hard on myself.
If I were on a bridge, I’d jump off.   If I had a gun to my face, I’d pull the trigger.   If I had a knife close by, I’d stab myself.   If I had scissors in my hand,
If i could cry i would weep for all eternity. If i could scream i would, i can do neither so i mourn in the most awful silence imaginable.. The sadness and pain is bottled up inside and i ache to let out.
No one can know about this secret. This grotesque secret. It's become a hobby. Something done daily. Something that is yearned. Something that can become addictive.
It smells like death, if death had a smell She felt a soft breeze while tears streamed down her face. She stood there not knowing how to feel, Not knowing what to say. What she did feel was lost, empty, numb
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