| Numb: A Safe Haven For Cutters |
| Hello, I'm Sylvia and welcome to my site. . I live in British Columbia, Canada with my mom and my brother. My father died when I was 10, which is one of the reasons I made this site. I need a place to store all my poems and still be able to maybe help some people, to not feel so alone. I'm suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome, which the main cause (for me) was my father's suicide. I've tried to kill myself six times and am a recovering cutter. These links will be such things as explanations of cutting, poems, and stuff like that. I did not write an of these, I simply went to a search engine. The only ones I did write are the ones with a askerisk (*). The poems below however, I did write, which helps be cope with urges as I call them. If you don't like depressing poems, or have problems with explict poems (my poems do seem quite....graphic to some.) This site may trigger past cutters or recovering cutters, so please, if you think any of these things would affect you, please leave. I don't want to create any trouble, for myself or you. Please sign my guestbook during your stay. Welcome to my mind. If I've left anything out, or you wish to add something, please email me at empty_0574@hotmail.com. Poetry, artwork, book reviews, stories of hope, stories of failure, articles, links, and everything else will be excepted |
| The Haunting Ghost While it seems I'm okay, I'm losing my mind, Look in my eyes, The tears aren't hard to find, And I'll always wonder, What they see looking in, Are the scars a part of me? Were the cuts a sin? And I wonder if he looked, While I made the incisions, And if the razors pull, Were my decisions, Seventeen at a time, Twenty-Three at the most, It's a constant reminder, It's my haunting ghost. |
| While Everyone's Gone While everyone's gone and I'm all alone, Listening to myself drone and drone, Not completley fufilled, just waiting, Looking at my self and just hating, I try to do better, be better, suceed, I can't, so I follow a harder creed, Forcing myself to do better, win one more time, Punishing myself for the most horrible crime, And while there's nothing left and I'm all alone, My wounds have been cleaned and my cuts all sown, I'm supposed to be better, not dead anymore, I look like a bag and feel so sore, I supposed to be better, not sick once again, No more sunshine for me, only the rain. |
| Metaphors I often use metaphors in my poetry to signify certin events in my life. You'll often see I use "the rain." The rain signifies the depression, the sadder points in my life, such as right after my father died, and when I cut. |
Bad Thoughts I think bad thoughts inside my head, Running homoe and into bed, Drifting into eternal sleep, Leaving here without a peep, I'll be gone forever more, And you'll have no one to call a whore, You'll be dazed, and I'll be gone, In this game, no one has won. |
| Rusty Razors And Sharp Knives It hurts so bad the only relief would be to cut myself up with rusty razors and sharp knives. And n one would know because no one understands the pain I feel. Or why I inflict pain, to cure it. To run away would be pleasure but I can't. Cause it would just follow me and I can't distract myself from the terrifying thoughts. To bring myself back to razors and knives and cut and cut till there's nothing left of this sinful body and this sinful mind. With no one to understand and no one to cure. I just want to be gone or hide from the pain but I can't because it'll hunt me down and kill me before I have the chance to kill myself and cut myself with rusty razors and sharp knives. |
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| ^ Please Sign My Guestbook!!!! Pwease??? PWEASE????? |
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| Update: I decided to give the links they're own page. When I first started this site, I didn't expect it to be as big as it turned out to be, and I'm running out of room on this page, so voila! Links page. |
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| Me! (God that's an old picture!) |
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