I can still smell the blood (poem)

I can smell the blood from cuts
that criss cross her thin arm
like red stripes as the pain
of helpless tears at my heart.
Words of encouragement falls
on deaf ears and only silence
is returned for any concern
for her - why are you online
when all that happens in the end
is that you only have another trigger?
Yet I cannot put conditions
on my love for you, even though
your anger blinds you to it.
Why is it that I can stop from
being triggered but you can't?
It is because when you believe
in and love unconditionally,
you want to live instead of die.
Yet I can still smell the blood...

I hurt (a poem)

picture a girl looking wild-eyed
with circles under her eyes,
looking deathly pale, sporting
an abrasion on her forehead.
she has her arms raised up to
show her handiwork on her arms —
an "I" cut into her right arm
and the word "hurt" cut into her left.
when you closely examine what you see,
you barely make out healed scars on both arms.
This is the picture of Emo.