Kittie
Releases
Copyright, Kittie
You can sit and cry, but what good does it do?
NOTHING WILL HELP!
Go to a psychiatrist?
Won’t help.
It’s like candy, addictive as smoking or drinking, and no one can help.
You can go through life depending on it, only it gets you no further.
It needs to stop, but how?
We can’t help the pain our bodies crave.
Shrinks don’t understand because their lives are perfect and we are scum.
Maybe so, but most of us are very intelligent.
You all avoid us, we are freaks.
Maybe so, but look at you.
You’re talked about daily, we only get talked about when one of us die.
We don’t ask for the attention, we reject it.
Look at us as people, not objects.
Look at us in the eyes and say it, freaks!
It’s our release what’s yours?
Cut Cut Cut
Copyright, Kittie
cut cut cut
slit my wrist
cut cut cut
I won’t resist
cut cut cut
watch the blood fall
cut cut cut
to get rid of it all
cut cut cut
this pain I cannot stand
cut cut cut
the slices on my hand
cut cut cut
watch the scars fade
cut cut cut
next time use a sharper blade
cut cut cut
get rid of this pain
cut cut cut
I hope it doesn’t stain
cut cut cut
I’m not right in the head
one more cut cut cut
and I’m dead
Will Anyone Care?
Copyright, Kittie
A little boy sits crying in his room.
He can’t stand life or the pain of being ridiculed daily.
He’s very different, but not strange.
He holds his boy scout knife against his wrist and throws it back down.
It’d be too painful and not fast enough.
He’ll be okay, his shrink says.
He thinks himself demented and hates everyone and everything.
A noose hangs from his ceiling fan, a second attempt at death.
There wouldn’t be a sudden enough stop to break his neck.
He throws his ideas away quickly.
He sits in a padded room, remembers his past attempts and remembers his gun.
They say he’s cured and let him out.
He gets home and bids everyone a good night.
The last thing written by his hand was ‘Will anyone care?’ and a bullet goes through his brain.
The cops all look at a dead body and think Did anyone care?
Why?
Copyright, Kittie
I’m told to throw away my identity and become someone else.
My clothes will perish with me.
I’m told I can no longer be me.
No one told ever told them to change.
It’s only me who has to change.
I’m happy being me, that’s all I was ever taught to be.
‘Maybe you’ll have a boyfriend who is perfect’ they all say.
Wouldn’t that be extremely boring?
Who would want that and how would they accomplish it?
IT’D SUCK!
I wouldn’t be happier, I’d be more depressed.
Could you imagine me being different?
I’d be wierd!
They are always wanting me to change.
They never told anyone else to change because they wore too much of one color or believed in something different.
So, I have one question for all these people who don’t understand how unhappy I’d be.
WHY?
Untitled
Copyright, Kittie
drip, drop
into my brain
silver tears of entropy
disturb the silence
shatter the dream
a ripple on a dead mirror
awakens me.
Untitled
Copyright, Kittie
Floating in strange patterns of red; light…
Feelings as though I was not myself…
In the mirror of the broken, where death sleeps soundly, hidden.
I saw the reflection as shards of glass, forming a broken puzzle…
If only we knew what it meant…
Untitled
Copyright, Kittie
I hate the shadows of the storm
They play with my soul
And make me cry
When in vision I dream of desire
Life would soar higher than
Ever it could
Crimson tears would no longer fall
No longer trickle off the
Edge of the moon
Boiling icicles no longer
Puncture the Earth
Laughter of madness haunt me no more
Mercury Hell, release me to be
All I would love and treasure in me
There are fires of blue
Deep as the sea
I bury them deep
In my blood, in my heart
When the madness creeps up
And I can’t stand
The struggle takes over and I am no more
The fires so blue escape from within
And scald my veins so I must release them
I tear a sliver of moon and hold it up high
It streaks low and slices, but I don’t cry
The fires boil crimson and burn
Over my skin
Subsiding the madness
Evading the pain
Till crystalline demise threatens again