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.

The Reject

Bhassam hain sab!!!

1 – I am the cheapest.

I am the weakest.

I am the tree nest.

Of ill treatment.

Neat pegs.

Addiction pet. 

Self destruct test.

The Reject.

I am the reject.

2 – Lonely.

Why were you only?

Left with such negativity,

Collapsed heaps.

Borderline Creep.

No sleep.

No dreams.

Can’t meet their eyes. 

Can’t see. 

Can’t feel.

Hydration on low self esteem.

Relapse deeds.

A big sharp shiny steel.

Guilt to the appeals.

Nothing reveals.

Silent screams.

Addiction supreme.

3 – Abandonment victory.

What do you believe?

“A stranger” from the Joker’s philosophy.   

Traces to heal, 

Traces to treat.



Without any pity.


Just bleed.

To treat,

to meet, 

to reach, 

to keep, 



Evil keys.

Of a sanity peace.

Survival grease. 

Leaking gently.

Bandaged hankee.

Still blood red, bed sheets.

Morning peel. 

4 – I am the cheapest.

I am the weakest.

I am the tree nest.

Of ill treatment.

Neat pegs.

Addiction pet.

Self destruct test.

The Reject.

I am the reject.

5 – Alienated.





Emotions, pasted.

Red fucking humiliate.

Gather around for the race.

Another phase.

Abductive mind games.

Never stops, begun to chase.

What’s your fucking name?

Stan…you’re a big shame.

So now, MAIM.

Maim Motherfucker Maim.

Somehow, escape.

This base.


When you’re late.

But Dirt is paid.

Of guilty mistakes.

Self Harm seems to be the only way.

Live your dark days.

But uncertainty remains.

With Slow, poisonous, death’s pace.

6 – I am the cheapest.

I am the weakest.

I am the tree nest.

Of ill treatment.

Neat pegs.

Addiction pet.

Self destruct test.

The Reject.

I am the reject.

Written By ‘Patient’ Stan. (P.S)


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

Unfigured Disfigured.

SATI is pure.

How is this possible?

Is the main question to start with. I mean how? Seriously, this was not I was looking forward to. It has chewed me down and have swallowed me alive. The ambiguous, unknown and such strange thoughts are wrecking me. The pattern, the shapes, the structures, the design; It’s like I can see through it all clearly and understand it as well. Sorting connections. Simultaneously, one by one, a havoc, an unsolved puzzle is appearing before me which I need to to figure out somehow.
Honestly, I see her as a powerfully evolved hybrid creature, opening my third psychedelic eye or senses; like the genre in music particularly known as ‘Hi-Tech Dark Psychedelic Experimental Trance’. When I vibe with her it honestly feels like a strong rush, making my knees go weak and heart been stabbed multiple times (Don’t get me wrong, just referring to the sensations of extreme closeness, hardcore attachment to her, felt). I am a part of her and she’s a part of me.
My life is like on Acid Trips these days. It feels like all buttons of the controls have been misfunctioning, the time in particular, to be precise is like ceased. It has stopped and something deep inside me is whispering “Forget It”.It’s deep down but it’s surely there. At the same time the connections I’m able to perceive are on a completely different level or Dimensional Zone.
A very strange place, it is something most would never get it’s depth and intensity. For them it is what is known as Love. To be honestly specific, my emotions are much more complicated than that. Trust me, believe me.

When I have practically lived in that dimension and not just merely existed, ate there, got shelter there, found solace and comfort, worked there and finally did the best I could’ve possibly done in service.

But this guilt has stricken me down on my knees, thoughts such as, “We are made for each other, but can’t be together”. Realisations of being such a cold hearted human when she gave her absolute best to me.
The thing is my evil mind won’t shut off. This psychedelic experience has generated both good and bad vibes inside of me. I even feel ashamed after working my best, my words are not able to properly communicate through my poetries what I personally feel for her. That’s why I’m writing this.

A soft corner, so gentle and pure how can I express? Even my words fail when it comes to explaining or elaborating to others what the situation is. My poetries doesn’t deliver any kind of justice to this to be honest. Two pieces, and I still was not able to figure this out. I feel failed at my job or at my Art or skill, talent etc.
The intensity of these emotions has shocked me to my core. I’m a dark entity and she deserves someone who can make her happy. But vibing with her is what actually surprises, confuses and finally also gives a sense of satisfaction in me. These waves are strong and are not some transient or temporary amplifications. What if I feel this way for the rest of my life?
I’ve been getting goosebumps, nocturnal leg cramps, weakness, jitters, shakes. Most of all this has made me depressed, I can’t sleep, can’t eat, self harm urges, big time anxiety, OCD variants like, walking within a small space, rapidly pacing back and forth constantly for hours. A sick wrenching feeling inside my gut. These are the physical manifestation and possession of these emotions. These emotions are actually very raw, versatile and complex in it’s own nature.
It’s like I am in no position to feel this way for her, not permitted or allowed and held within strict rules, I’ve gone out of my way somehow. Being a Borderline is not as easy as it is just only pronounced.

The interpretation is quite intriguing for me because she’s quite intimidating and challenging for me. Can’t be pursued no matter what.

What I can’t understand are these feelings. Where are they coming from? How is it possible? And finally not even a million years.
The only thing which I consider myself to be is a dark, hollow, contaminated, toxic and evil self destructive creature.

This time unlike earlier I will indeed cross those sea shores and miles never been ever touched, to destroy or destruct myself. Thats what I’m best at. I accept that I’m a mental wreck and everything can be easily scattered and shattered. And so will I. I Can already see the doomsday Sati. 

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

Inexplicably Inevitable

1 – Seen you’ve survived.

So now let’s destroy your night.

Don’t be terrified.

I’m just here for a while.

But I’ll molest you deep from the inside.

Where you won’t be able to recognise.

That I…

Will rip you blind.

So you can carve fine.

Parallel lines.

Failed fight.

High like…

Never mind.

I’m fine.

2 – Sometimes a bubble wrap.

Is all you have.

When you’re getting smashed.

Just too FUCKING fat.

Get yourself trapped.

Kill yourself & never comeback.

Because you’re full of crap.

A monologue in total contact.

Tolerance bursts to act.
3 – Get away from me.

How can you love a freak?

Who is ought to destruct himself completely.

Isolation doesn’t feel lonely.

Sometimes it provides security.




When you succeed to hurt me.

Coping becomes nasty.

But I deserve it anyways, no need!

I’m dying already.

Get away from me.

Let me act in, toxically.

Sprinting those razors atrociously.

A wave of silence spreading softly.
Written By P.S. ‘PATIENT’ Stan.

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.