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Living Ghost

My name is Natalie. I find writing out my feelings very venting but reading them back to be triggering. I’ve been SI’ing for nearly seven years from just before I turned ten. Here is some of my poetry from around christmas.

Confused

Copyright, Living Ghost

I’m locked away in my little glass cage
alone with my pain, hatred and rage.
no one gets in, they can’t understand
why they hit only glass when they reach for my hand.
A ghost of a thought, what i once could have been.
A parasite crawling in my own damaged skin.
Treading the same ground day in and day out
until i forget what it’s for or about.
Just that hit, that sensation of pain
adds not to my loss, i sense it as gain.
I sense it as freedom, release of my soul.
A weak worthless girl. To destroy her; my goal.
No one gets into my little glass room.
They all hurry by — afraid of my tomb.
My tomb for the living that might well be dead.
The voices of angels scream in my head.
They tell me to suffer, i deserve not to breathe.
So watch the blood bubble and misery seethe.
I’m standing here watching myself go insane.
Oh Please, one day, to be rid of this pain.

Original Sin

Copyright, Living Ghost

My name picked out of a hat to live.
A cell. Nothing but a guess.
A random dice throw to release the spirit
condensing on the ozone layer now escaping from me
breath by breath like from a balloon until
I, wrinkled as a pea, have nothing left to live on.
If I live as long as Sibyl, glass haired and iced eyes
and I still can reach out past each one of my fingernails
to something else beyond the graveyard perhaps I am still alive.
Calico cocooned by fate with greed for a bedpost.
Lust, wrath and pride are the others. Gluttony my pillow,
Sloth my sheets, envy my comforting blanket.
I lie here in sin in a grave I have dug myself.
Compacted earth in the whorls of my fingerprints
before I stole, lied, swore or killed.
Before I was born; a black mark by my name
because another woman was curious and took a utopia from me.
Spitting arsenic through the placenta in your bag of venom,
little child whose eyes are still sealed shut like an envelope.
No one else has read it but your life has been written out
and stamped your name and soul.
Lie back in the filth of your life which you know nothing of
repulsive, rebellious foetus.
There’s no charm in apology.
You’re foul to the touch.

Jugular

Copyright, Living Ghost

I am just someone thats tried to regain
some lost sens eof reason and be rid of the pain
with a gun to my head and drugs in my veins
I’m another young suicide like Kurt Cobain.
I’m no bitter rockstar tormented by sorrow
i’ve just looked ahead and seen no tomorrow.
When your grip is slipping
don’t question why.
It’s fate’s way of saying
‘It’s your turn to die.’
No lie.
Don’t cry.
Just breathe calmly and say your goodbyes.
Maybe they’ll say you had more to give
maybe they’ll wish you had longer to live.
Comfort yourself with these thoughts and be gone.
your mommy and daddy will know they did wrong.
close your eyes to the worlds jeering stare
and see on your gravestone that nobody cared.

Truth to Tell

Copyright, Living Ghost

Peace is there for breaking, like a knife is there for blood.
God and man always debating, that is why he sent the flood.
Love is there for spurning, smashing all those foolish dreams,
And a witch is there for burning, giving rise to haunted screams.
Life is not for living, we all just end up dead,
The deception’s right in front of us, the cliff is straight ahead.
Jewels are there for showing, but its better if you sell.
None of us will reach the heaven, that’s as sure as hell.
Memories are often buried, the ones that tell of pain,
You could leave them there forgotten or dig them up again.
Because friendships there for testing, to keep or throw away,
They might just run off crying or it could last another day.
Money’s there for gambling, try your luck against some kid.
Most days you wake up drunk and broke and wonder what you did.
The head that bears the crown, uneasy as it lies.
Bathes in gold and diamonds while the street-child outside dies.
(Instead of red, red roses, give a lover thorns.
Laugh around an open grave whilst everyone else there mourns.)
The grass is always greener on the distant other side.
But we reach those other pastures and miss what we left behind.
The ice on which we’re skating is getting pretty thin,
And the waters getting warmer so will you sink or swim?
( Goblins for the good kid, fairies for the bad
blue for all the lasses, pink for all the lads)
No one does the ‘giving’ in this world where we all ‘give’.
Money’s handed out on the base of where you live.
The songs they sing at Christmas time — ‘goodwill to all men’,
They were written years ago, times have changed since then.
It’s the winning people’s after, no one cares how hard you try,
Tragedy’s a own goal in a game where people die.
Look at this strangled world we made, Adams Eden, Satan’s lair.
We’ve strived to change, or so we claim, but truth to tell I just don’t care.

Cold knife on blue vein it doesn’t go far.
Just enough to leave a peroxided scar.
A scar of my anguish that wept from inside
a silent heart that long ago died.
A heart that no longer feels blood or bone.
It cannot beat being made out of stone.
Bubble wrapped, packaged and glued all the same.
I’d tried to stop it from breaking again.
Too late, too much hate was pumped in my skin.
The ghosts had to find another way in.
So i drain it and watch it and smile at the act.
Then i wake up and am told to face facts.
The fact that i’m sick and they say that i’m dying.
And all around me my friends are crying.
I picture my funeral, the six feet of my grave.
When i am gone what will they say?
They’ll wish for all that i could have been
and a beautiful future only they could have seen.
They’ll speak of a wasted life and her ways.
That haunted that ghost to the end of her days.

Blame

Copyright, Living Ghost

I can’t blame the blind
for never noticing
as i stand dumb
silently screaming.
A mirror of forever
grants me a vision
and all i see are shadows.
Shadows and black.
Pointing out all i lack.
The skeletal form of a vacant soul.
I don’t blame you, the blind
for not been able to see
after all you can’t see the mirror
you can’t see what darkness stands
on the other side of me.
Or peel back the mask i have worn
pasted and moulded and sculpted my smile
through five years of torment
and scars.
Deteriated beyond decay
exhausted past sleep
drained beyond pale
paranoid past ghosts
and scared thorough demons to myself
to the next hell i cross.

This Kind of Hate

Copyright, Living Ghost

I see flames, tall and jeering, around the ruins of my joy
The loom on which my dreams are woven, fallen ashes to the floor.
Running toward an open door, through the fire, my one escape.
The slamming shrieks off roof and floor.
I am blind, I cannot see.
The darkness creeps, cold, through all of me,
Whilst the fire still burns.

And in this blindness, it scorches my flesh, rising up inside my heart.
Trapped in this maze I cannot leave, where the tall towers of my ill abide.
Knife wounds from the inside trying to tear at my skin
With rope of distrust I am tied. Thrown into this vortex of loathing.
I am standing, here alone,
High on a cliff over daggers of foam,
The ocean of my contempt.

The sourness of putrid ash, lightning electric on my tongue
Churning in my throat, dampened down by metal rain.
Acid through my veins, eyes water from the sting
Choking on my own blood when judgment comes to reign
Smoke, it smothers and I burn with fury
With the guilty verdict from peace’s jury.
Will a glacier quell my fire?

They whisper all about me. Voices in my mind
A pounding drum rings through my skull round and round my head.
Herald that all love is dead. The door is slamming still
They laugh taunting at me on this needle builded bed.
I am cursed, I am plagued
Witches chant as I rage
I am screaming
I am burning
All my life in hell
Hear me if you love me
Wake me from this spell.

Copper Chant

Copyright, Living Ghost

Do you know the devil’s caves
hidden among the dirt and dust?
Residing in the mind’s shadows
beside envy, wrath and lust?
The walls painted like a vortex
of madness in the stone of heart
red like sunset snow and muscle,
bone and blood ripped apart.
Howling pain in pumping lungs
with air too worthy for my hate.
tortured tones rest in the ears
crually whisper my only fate.
the fate in dark despair i owe
all my life to heavy debt.
a debt of life i never asked for
but so ‘gifted in my mould was set.
In a cell chained in Iron,
starved and silenced, six frozen walls
creep to crush me, myself the trigger
deaf to howling mutant calls.
calls and cries behind a smile,
much practised through the years.
a laugh to cover loathing
and a song disguises tears.
skin crawls, bones rust with blood
not yet set faithfully free.
routine will force this ghost to walk
to eat, to sleep, to breathe.
Torment its sleep with dreams of death
and refuse the skin to feel.
Trudge unwilling through the maze
of damp and dark surreal.
When all that lustede pain brings
remnant of the wasted being
is relief for a brief second
from the world that i am seeing.
A world haunted by a monster
tainted tread, it’s touch, it’s word.
the monster i, this ghost SCREAMING
or so i have often heard.
Speaking only to me, biting at me,
bleeding me dry greet storm and rain.
for those clouds shine a spectrum brighter
than my soul of sour insane.
i wish not for pity but for silence
and blank minds against my name.
when i die i curse you
who dare say my name again.
stagnant water flows instead of blood
polluted by my soul,
stained by a living ghost,
supposed once human, in her hole.
Six foot deep and six foot square
give me no engraved stone
and bury me only wher ei deserve to be
entirely cut off and alone.
remember after you forget the pain
your frozen fears freed.
The blind still cry, the mute still laugh
and the dead still bleed.

13 Yr Old Burnout

Copyright, Living Ghost

13 Yr Old Burnout
i was burnt out at thirteen.
an allowance squandered on addiction
cigarettes and steristrips
to hold the razored holes together.
waiting to give away everything in a moment
for the sadness to death
more than once.
drowning in bated blood
hanging from hurt
my heart dragged through emotional arsenic
and overdosing on hate.
I stood at hells gates
with a pill packet, rope and a razor
and reached out to the darkening glare.
i had to risk losing my life
to realise how much was there.

 

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