deepundergroundpoetry.com
Slit, Swallow (TRIGGER WARNING)
Eight years ago -
Everyone laughed as you gagged
At a little orange pill for cough -
Spit it,
As you accidentally cut your hand with a broken glass,
Clumsy, clumsy, girl,
Felt faint from the blood...
(Oh my God
Oh my God)
Eight years ago -
You read the bible,
Held on to rosaries,
Dear brainiac,
Wondered how sweet your first kiss would be,
Loved the sunshine and
Had that spring in your step...
Dreams, wonderful dreams,
And your words were sweet.
Seven years later -
You take three pills in the morning,
Two at night.
(Swallow, no problem)
Didn't even flinch at the sight
Of blood,
(Slit, does it hurt)
Suicidal, suicidal, girl,
From the cuts
On your arms, your thighs, your wrist.
(God
God)
Seven years later -
You've been told you have no God;
Yet you try to hold on to the holy.
But staying late at night wondering what
Sex might feel like,
Love the deviant and depraved,
The darkness, the dirt.
Had an affair with lightning and thunder,
Danger -
And nightmare, you're a walking nightmare,
And your words...
Eight years later -
Where did being good take you?
Alive.
Barely.
Virgin squirter,
Never been kissed.
Still sick.
The worst person in their eyes.
Wasting young just so you could breathe.
So you ask for help,
With meds to stay sane,
To stay good enough for them,
Yourself,
And what did they say?
- You love it.
You fucking love the meds,
The therapy,
Love everything to be "me, me, me."
Stereotypical depressed girl,
Suicide doll,
Medicine whore.
Believe everything you read,
Love the sweet, sweet, self-destruction.
And we're not made of money, no.
We're not even in the US or a TV show.
You never help yourself.
Suck it up, like I did.
Like everything I did.
I did everything on my own. -
(Fucking good for you -
I am not you)
And you tried to be good.
Yet here are accusations,
That you just feed your demons...
And want to stay in hell forever.
And that you curse those who love you with your doctor.
And you're tired...
Exhausted of dragging halos.
And wish you could afford
To be bad
So bad.
Or sleep -
Succumb.
Or leave,
Living...
Fresh cuts,
You bleed a bit,
Slit.
Slowly,
Overdosing,
Swallow.
Honey, you're growing older.
And it seems like nothing is getting better.
.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNE-7DyLJ5w
Art: Above - Anna Parini for The Boston Globe
Bellow - Luis Quiles
Everyone laughed as you gagged
At a little orange pill for cough -
Spit it,
As you accidentally cut your hand with a broken glass,
Clumsy, clumsy, girl,
Felt faint from the blood...
(Oh my God
Oh my God)
Eight years ago -
You read the bible,
Held on to rosaries,
Dear brainiac,
Wondered how sweet your first kiss would be,
Loved the sunshine and
Had that spring in your step...
Dreams, wonderful dreams,
And your words were sweet.
Seven years later -
You take three pills in the morning,
Two at night.
(Swallow, no problem)
Didn't even flinch at the sight
Of blood,
(Slit, does it hurt)
Suicidal, suicidal, girl,
From the cuts
On your arms, your thighs, your wrist.
(God
God)
Seven years later -
You've been told you have no God;
Yet you try to hold on to the holy.
But staying late at night wondering what
Sex might feel like,
Love the deviant and depraved,
The darkness, the dirt.
Had an affair with lightning and thunder,
Danger -
And nightmare, you're a walking nightmare,
And your words...
Eight years later -
Where did being good take you?
Alive.
Barely.
Virgin squirter,
Never been kissed.
Still sick.
The worst person in their eyes.
Wasting young just so you could breathe.
So you ask for help,
With meds to stay sane,
To stay good enough for them,
Yourself,
And what did they say?
- You love it.
You fucking love the meds,
The therapy,
Love everything to be "me, me, me."
Stereotypical depressed girl,
Suicide doll,
Medicine whore.
Believe everything you read,
Love the sweet, sweet, self-destruction.
And we're not made of money, no.
We're not even in the US or a TV show.
You never help yourself.
Suck it up, like I did.
Like everything I did.
I did everything on my own. -
(Fucking good for you -
I am not you)
And you tried to be good.
Yet here are accusations,
That you just feed your demons...
And want to stay in hell forever.
And that you curse those who love you with your doctor.
And you're tired...
Exhausted of dragging halos.
And wish you could afford
To be bad
So bad.
Or sleep -
Succumb.
Or leave,
Living...
Fresh cuts,
You bleed a bit,
Slit.
Slowly,
Overdosing,
Swallow.
Honey, you're growing older.
And it seems like nothing is getting better.
.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNE-7DyLJ5w
Art: Above - Anna Parini for The Boston Globe
Bellow - Luis Quiles
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