It’s True.

Written By P.S.

Theme – Depression.


Self harm.

Eating disorders.

(Trigger Warning)
1 – Everything Blacks – out.

Every contact is foul.

Don’t interact, with your mouth.

Destructively operating and everything shuts down.

Smack yourself against the crowd.

Of societal  nouns.

Of societal grounds.

Lowering standards of self doubts.

Again getting strong & loud.

Self Harmer temptedly aroused.
2 – It’s all about the blade must.

It’s all about the blade thrust.

It’s all about that relieving rush. 

It’s all about the deep burst.

It’s all about the guilt worst.

It’s all about the scenery of blood shrugs.

Every time cursed.

Every time rubbed.
3 – Binged and purged.

Weakening submerged.

Dissociative serves.

To body and nerves.

Strange voices heard.

They begin to learn.

Your weakest turn.

Making you burn.

Making you concerned.

Making you follow its instructions.

Vile junction.

Bile abruption.

Nauseous proportions.

Digestive food abortions.

Blacking out cautions.
4 – Helpless Cope.

Hopeless bowl.

Never been told.

How to hold?

This chokes.

This pokes.

Out of control.

But the most.

Illogically – logical, inner feeding host.

Vulnerably gropes.

Strong gripness and furious hold.

Blood cone.

Blood enroll.

Brain sold.

Cognitions torn.

Gun reload.

Trigger Rode.

Failure phone.

Of unnheard moans.
5 – Everything Blacks – out.

Every contact is foul.

Don’t interact, with your mouth.

Destructively operating and everything shuts down.

Smack yourself against the crowd.

Of societal  nouns.

Of societal grounds.

Lowering standards of self doubts.

Again getting strong & loud.

Self Harmer temptedly aroused.

Into The Wild By Erin Hunter.


Mahadev 🙏 (S)

Written By P.S.
Theme – Depression.



Self Harm.

Eating Disorders. 

Mental Health.

(Trigger Warning)

1 – Riot.


Anxiety liar.

Insomnia fire.

Blade desire.

Urges higher.

Urges hired.

Blood drier.

Abnoxious surveilled diets.

Everything remains quiet.

Just tired

Just quiet.

2 – Cinematic gleam.

Collapsed heaps.

Bleeding gently.

Bleeding everyday, every week.

Dirty deeds.

Dripping on feet.

Guilt regimes.

Painful screams.

Extraordinary scene.

Of suppressing, relief lean.

Depression clean.

Everything’s red but, the world is again green.

Quietly bring a team.

Bring your needs.

And fall down on your knees.

Bangs on self esteem.

Madness speaks.

Damn! How weak?

How are you so weak??

3 – Riot.


Anxiety liar.

Insomnia fire.

Blade desire.

Urges higher.

Urges hired.

Blood drier.

Abnoxious surveilled diets.

Everything remains quiet.

Just tired.

Just quiet.
4 – Trigger table.

Damaged cable.

Vicious enable.

No! Good night, later.

“Haha”, laughs of evil favor.

Nasty galaxy crater.

Supreme fader.

Hate irritator.

Impulse surrender.

Action mender.

Pleasure seductor. 

Guilt rupture.

Possessive structures.
5 – Black and white.
Just fight.

This height.

Misfunctional device.

Vehicle seat belt tight.

On a driving night.

Switch on your headlights.

This is gonna be a nasty ride.

And you might,

You might not even cry.

After its done absolutely right.

Flying like a kite.

Black and white.

Don’t worry! Chew and bite.
6 – Riot.


Anxiety liar.

Insomnia fire.

Blade desire.

Urges higher.

Urges hired.

Blood drier.

Abnoxious surveilled diets.

Everything remains quiet.

Just tired.

Just quiet.

Delightfully Kill

The Psychedelic Experience (Sati_TheMystique) SOUL CONNECTION

1 – Delightfully kill.
Brain drilled.

Mind thrilled.

Body chills.

Murder within.

Evil springs.





Love injected.

Hate rejected.
2 – Ate in your dimension.

Stayed in your caring sessions.

Humble transformations.

Logical informations.

Can’t I stay?

Can’t I crave.

To grab your hand, my pure authenticate.

My pure flower vase.

Your gentle touch is my strong coffee  and my psychedelic bass.

And your gaze.

It gnaws my base.

Like floating in another dimensional aerospace. 

Knees weak but my anxiety fades.

You are my medical aid.

Sati, you are my own 1000 details.

I’ve fallen for an entire soul galaxy and not just only a beautiful body or a face.

Which the world usually quotes and  says.

No matter what, you are my becoming my life, you could never be replaced.

Rest my head on your lap and heal me with your tight embrace.

Can’t I stay?

Can’t I crave?

Or is it too late?

Who is a self hated mental case?
3 – Delightfully kill.

Brain drilled.

Mind thrilled.

Body chills.
4 – A chaos within the skin.

A gentle flow of the wind.

An obsessive brain binge.

Mental syringe.

Affections infringe.

But can’t convince. 

Physically vibrate with continuous sudden flinch.

So, my heart, it’s yours, and you’re only imprinted.

You’re my centre and not just my brim.
5 – Delightfully kill.

Brain drilled.

Mind thrilled.

Body chills. 

From the hills.

Hold my hand, hold my bleeding wrists.

And delightfully kill. 

The evil which resides within.

Left (Patient Stan) Right (Sati_TheMistique)

Written by P.S for SATI_TheMystique.

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.


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.

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.


Written By P.S

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.



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

The Quiet Borderline 

Why I’m always so silent. In pic (Kurt Cobain)

 1 – My body shakes.

My head aches. 

I’ve been raped. 

And I’m going to fail. 

Because mind maims. 

Bullied under shame. 

Severe self hate. 

Can’t raise. 

Voice against. 

Madness chased. 

Hidden blades.


2 – Fine. 

I’m alright. 

Just a lost fight.  

Blurred sight. 

Now it’s a constant drive. 

Ugly body, pathetic mind. 

Miserable life. 

Opiate eyes. 

Pain behind. 

Tears dry. 

Masked lie. 

But why? 

Anxious to die.

3 – You will be gone soon. 

And I will lock my cocoon. 

Where I will bleed my doom.

So don’t find me and get confused. 

Because suicide is now a loop.

It’s becoming my ultimate truth. 

And I just can’t choose. 

What exactly do I have to prove? 

I’ve failed everything, whatever I’ve been through. 

So don’t look. 

I am a burning book. 

Which will soon. 

Turn to ashes, erasing my proof. 

My existence is mute.

And please don’t look back. 

I’ve already planned my attack. 

I’m sitting with a gun in my hand.

So don’t look back. 

I’m already trapped. 

4 – A woman who tried. 

She took my mask of disguise. 

I painted a picture which she defined. 

Hate which made me defiled.

The misery I tried to hide. 

A disgusting smile. 

Saw my soul through my eyes.

Withering ride.

But I, 

Left her because I, deserve to die. 

The quiet borderline. 

About to pull the trigger…grip on the gun; tight.

The Quiet Borderline.

Who never shined.

Is now terrorised.

Afraid to stay alive.

The Quiet Borderline.

Alone in night.

Jumped down from a height.

The Quiet Borderline.

Written By ‘PATIENT’ Stan.

Meaning – I wrote this to describe quiet borderline personality. Which is quite psychotically more self destructive because a typical BPD sufferer would exhibit acting out, where as a a quiet one will act in. Inducing pain upon themselves. They get unnoticed and it’s sometimes too late for them. 

It’s story about a guy who is struggling from such inner turmoil that he thinks he doesn’t deserve anyone in his life. He gets frightened when people try to get too close to him. He just maintains his distance and avoids contact. He’s sensitive about his scars. But not comfortable in his skin as people keep reminding him to pull his sleeves down. Providing him successfull nostalgia of misery & shame. He feels things intensely and that’s why hate getting attached to someone because he knows it will be a rollercoaster of agonising pain. He’s suicidal and thinks he deserves to die.