Red Coloured Paint (I.A.P.G. Impulse, Action, Pleasure, Guilt)

Impulse (Noun)

A strong and unreflective urge or desire to act.

Action (Noun)

The fact or process of doing something; typically to achieve an Aim.

Pleasure (Noun)

A feeling of happy satisfaction or  enjoyment.

Guilt (Noun)

The fact of having committed something wrong or have implied failure, offence or crime.

Credits: SATI_TheMystique.

Red Coloured Paint (I.A.P.G)
1 – Where will you go?

How will you cope?

When there’s just a fan and a sight of a rope.

And it turns to only one of your remaining last hope.

You start writing suicide notes.

In guilt, when the pain is more.

Earlier than before.
2 – What will you ask for?

Fucking end it all.

With a final call.

A call to make you shock.

A shock to make you knock.

A knock to make you empty like a rock.

An empty rock to make you small.

So small to make you end the pain cause.

A pain cause to build your walls.

With those walls, your mind mauls.

Bloody body is hauled.

Depression knot.

Anxiety clot.

Self harm mock.

Insomniac brawl.
3 – How will you stop?

How will you solve?

How ill, will you fall?

Ravaging dissolve.

Impulse – A Loop, a ball.

A vicious weavement of thoughts.

An Agent Of Chaos.

Action – An arousing pod.

Pleasure – A seductive boss.

Guilt – The splash of the sauce.

Drip – drip.

A releived grin.

Across my chin.

Just lose it.

And stains fill.

Blood on my nail prints.

This man who’s accusative.

Shine of the sedative, palliative.

Mind repetitive.

Screaming,”rule of 10 hits.

You fat bitch!!!

Why did you ingested?”.
Old nightmares haunts with a butcher’s knife.

A rope appearing nearer and nearer with that dreadful smile.

I might kill myself tonight.

Because nothings alright.

So I’ll become the sacrifice.

Modified,

To vice.
4 – It’s no more a game.

When scars begin to fade.

The urges make you vulnerable in shame.

Night time makes,

To lose my shades.

A tool innate.

A tool intricate.

Chugging down liquor generates. 

Unlimited wage.

Of severe self hate.

Precision of my mistakes.

Played, replayed.

Mind Slaved.

Human brain.

Impulse – You can’t wait.

Action – Objection is sustained.

Pleasure – Draining the pain.

Guilt – And the devil rapes.

Time to time, again and again.

Until he mutilates. 

Until I suffocate.

In a RED COLOURED PAINT.
5 – In depth.

My blade lies beside my bed.

A bleeding fest.

Cheek bones bruised red.

From rapid punching of myself.

Only exhaustion left.

Something begins to fade my present.

From the torment.

As many, and when I make more dents.

On my ugly flesh.

Borderline refreshed.

Necessary evil exponent.

Impulse – Self Harm Savage.

Mental Mallet.

Action – Depression Valid.

Tool – kit, Solid.

Pleasure – Annihilation Jotted.

Areas Spotted.

Guilt – Emotions Distraughted.

Visions Distorted.

RED PAINT KNOWLEDGE.

Written By P.S

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Pick Up A Blade

1 – Perforate.
Circumspection re-generates.

The one thing you can’t debate.

It dominates.

It’s how they parade.

And they won’t explain.

Until you pick up a blade.

Appears like a bouquet. 

A fragrance that promises to eliminate.

Whatever you pain.

Whatever chews your brain.

Eroding to complicate.

When you pick up a blade.
2 – Digestion frail.

Of better intake.

Everyday when you make.

A promise to yourself that you won’t break.

But till evening there’s just shame.

A provisional trace.

A guaranteed provoke leading to damage.

Whenever you pick up a blade.
3 – This Hate.

This Fate.

This Phase.

What I write is what I live with every single day.

Shamed.

Ashamed.

Guilty Case.

When I will present, you won’t be able to tolerate.

This fuming internalised rage.

Toxically rapes.

Addictevly operates.  

Inside a Mind Cage.
4 – Preferring to turn to a waste.

Battling the race.

Figuratively a broken vase.

Burning concentrates.

Liquid shakes.

Blade pain.

Adrenaline craves.

Nasty marks that fades.

The Mind, The Emotion, The Surface.

Relaxed Base.

Fundamental temperament staring in my face.

Powerfully hallucinate.

Carelessly penetrate. 

Damaged, despised remains.

Anxious in my zone, in my space, in my place.

Whenever I pick up a blade.

Written By P.S

Addict

Addictive
Scene of the valley.
Has equally terrified me. 

Beginning to be. 

Secrets redeem. 

Cutting feels. 

Nasty but heals. 

Unknowingly. 

Wounds that bleed. 

Unfortunate deal. 

Which feeds. 

Insides of me. 

Scene of the valley looks pretty.

 

I’m sure that you can deliver it. 

Might be not quick. 

Surely a bit. 

Stuck shit. 

Still I will. 

fight for a gift. 

Each day lewis. 

Each wound healing shifts. 

 

I can’t loose you. 

Messed up confused.

So guide me in this loop. 

Im just pretending to be a fool. 

Still using those tools. 

Cutting out juice. 

Red blood shoes. 

Thighs again abused. 

One day at a time. 

Surely im not fine.

Reality of 3am


Bound to begin.

Hands strengthen.

Relatively dependant.

Must repent.

Failures present.

Reality of 3am.
Clock clock.

Tick rock. 

Brain mocks.

Another shot.

Deeper fought.

Suicidal thoughts.

Relapsing fraud.

Another call.

Blades felt.

Like a nest.

Nightmares dreamt.

Reality of 3am.
Another day ends.

Blade friends.

Switch the pen.

Cutting dents.

Blood gem.

No need of help.

A secret shelf.

Where everythings hidden.

Nights begins.

About to end.

Reality of 3am.
3 months of recovery broken by relapse.

Reality ended for me so fast.

What all I took what all I had.

Reality of 3 am taken by chance.

Surrender your will to cast.

Open another wound & relapse.

Victimised to self pity that.

Sins to wear the hats.
Written by P.S 

Pre-Occupied

Craving for more cuts…

1 – A gentle war.

Behind loosing bombs.

Self destruction on.

Stumbling upon.

Blades perform.

Totally deformed.
2 – Angry craves.

Frustrating days.

Wasted away.

Fine..okay..

Cutting again.

Why this shame?

Of self hate.

Addictively behaves.

Lost to fade.
3 – Who am I? 

Whoever dies.

Doesn’t makes a difference, cuze time flies.

Wind of time.

Realise.

Reality died.

Blurry hide.

Totally deny.

Lie. Just lies.

Mind pre-occupied.

​Abandoned (Written for Shagun Suri) My Psychologist.

Help me to recovery.

I know.

I’m sure.

You would leave me alone.

So why control.

Blades show.

Bleeding hopes.

C’mon cut more.

Behind the doors.

Lost control.
Can stop it.

Can’t fight it.

People say deny it.

How do we fit?

Society’s bullshit. 

Bastard hit.

Applying shifts.

Of uncontrolled mood swings.

Hatred, begins to feed & brings, 

A gentle relief towards the skin. 

Bleeding horrific.

Don’t just stare kill me a bit.

Hurt bursting aggressive.
Sadness.

To total madness.

Find no happiness.

Lying around being possessed.

Sharp damn edges.

Craving skin begs.

Towards a failures test.

Killing himself.

No choices.

Feeling hopeless.

Feeling helpless.

In trying to forget.

All of the repressed.

Memories of loosing control again…

I beg you.

Please help!!!

This abandoned.

Written by P.S (PATIENT Stan)

​Against The Shame.

Borderline, Anorexia, Cutting

Nice to know you,I have been a big fool.

Confused.

States in loose.

Thoroughly abused.

By the mind filth shoots.
Self hate…

To gain weight.

Put the blade.

Against  skin, today.

Sharper, deeper scraped.

Inner demons say.

Do it!! You deserve pain

Against the shame.
Roots of interpretations

Failed to become

Relapsed again, no fun.

Feeling dumb.

Absolutely numbed.

Relieved?what?

Can’t say much.
Self hate…

To gain weight.

Put the blade.

Against  skin, today.

Sharper, deeper scraped.

Inner demons say.

Do it!! You deserve pain

Against the shame.