LoveLove is cruel. Love is pain. Love is agony. Love. Love is what the spirit of the young girl longs for above all else. True love. A love that is pure. As easy as breathing but burns like a flame.Love
There are many who will never feel what it is to truly be in love. True love. Some will fish around for it all their lives and will never find it. Some will believe they've found it... But will find out later on that they were wrong.
Some ask how you'll know when you've found the right person... The constant reply? You'll just know. But... what if you're so accustomed to questioning everything, every little detail, that you
Not My ReflectionI close and lock the bathroom door, attempting silence as I do so. Everyone sleeps, but me. I am evaded by sleep. Sleep.... The one thing that could grant me a natural escape.... I glance in the mirror to see a face that could be mine, save for the dark circles under my eyes and the tormented look in them. This wasn't me. Quietly, I force myself to open the drawer slowly, my desperation making my hands shake with the effort of waiting. My mind reels with desire, repulsion and anticipation at the thought of what I'm about to do. Once the drawer is open a few inches, just enough, my hand shoots out frantically and grasps the razor. The movementNot My Reflection
A Thorn Among RosesIn a garden, among even the most beautiful flowers are outcasts. Like the thorn among the roses. Usually ignored by those distracted by the beautiful being surrounding it, it waits. Too unassuming to request acceptance and too afraid of being rejected. It seems not to exist until one sees it there and acknowledges its presence. It seems harmless enough, not very large and not sharp enough to do any real damage. So you take a chance and reach out to it. Feeling sorry for it. You can get close to it and it seems unwilling to hurt you. But then you learn the truth. There are secrets and all is not as it seems. You get close and the thorn pricksA Thorn Among Roses
Not Worth ItIt's my life.Not Worth It
Mine to do what I will with it.
Mine to have.
Mine to take.
Mine to use for good or evil.
Mine to torment myself until I wish I no longer existed.
Mine.
I've always been in control.
Yet, never the one pulling the strings.
I've made my life, myself, what it is.
What I am.
I am responsible.
Yet, it's not my fault.
I am what I am because I choose to be and have to be.
My fate is sealed.
Already, not subject to change.
I have made my choices.
And my choices have made me. &nb
Suicide prevention dealieSuicide Prevention TestSuicide prevention dealie
Brittany Dykes Block 2 5/16/06
Sonya seemingly had a perfect life. She had good grades, a spot on the varsity volleyball team, loving family, and was on her way to a great college. People envied her because she seemed to be so happy all the time. Despite what they saw, Sonya didn’t feel that way. She felt her grades were never good enough, and that her parents always ignored her. When she got so much as a B in any class, her dad would yell at her. She was getting pressured into a college she didn’t want to go to, and most of all, she felt like she had no real friends.
CutterFucking Emo." His voice was cold and cruel, as he pushed me into the wall. "Fucking pansy ass cutter!" he was yelling this time. I dropped to the floor and braced myself as he kicked me, the side of his Nike sneakers digging into my side. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Huh? Stand and fight!" he commanded, hovering above me. I slowly rose, my side aching and my arms instinctively wrapped around myself.Cutter
A small sob escaped my mouth, and a smirk spread across his face. "What's wrong?" he asked with mock sympathy, though I doubted he even knew what sympathy was. "Not getting the attention you wanted? Huh, cutter?" I wrapped my arms tigh
The cutterShe's a cutter isn't she.The cutter
Yes, see the scars.
See the many braclets in a false attempt to cover them
See the long sleeve shirts, some with a little blood spots in them.
See the long pants, she's probley got scars on her thighs.
She's a cutter isn't she.
See her trace the scars of her wrists with her fingers, longing for her blade again
See the tears in her eyes.
See the blood running down her plams
She was a cutter wasn't she.
See the unhealed cuts on her wrists
See the blood stains covering her fl
