TW: Poor Mental Health, Self-harm

Learning how to do pixel art. I think I made a depressed Nacli. Or an emo mushroom:

The photo I was attempting to recreate:

Some old poems of mine (6):

TW: depression

Life:

What belongs to me but is not my own?

My life apparently.

Decisions are never mine

for fear of those always present eyes

glaring at me in disapproval.

My future is someone else's too.

Years go by too fast

leaving me behind

hiding behind a smile when my only certainty is death.

(Sometimes I long for the numbness).

My body and health

my mind

are dictated by others.

I wish I could take control,

but I would never use it

as well as these strangers believe they do.

Round 2!

Based on this photo:

Some old poems of mine (3):

Screaming:

He won't stop screaming

I can't stop scratching

Day after day after day after day

He keeps screaming

I keep bleeding

Day after day after day after day

He still screams

I still scratch

It never ends

He never stops

It won't stop he won't stop

So my heart stops instead

hi! i came from a post from findproshippers with a bunch of fandoms like bsd if you want to talk :)

Hi! Nice to meet you! Likewise, if you or anyone coming to this blog wants to talk I'm more than happy to!

Might be part of something larger.

TW: depression, self-harm, suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, blood

Red. Red was a beautiful color. It wasn't her favorite color but there was something enchanting about it. The way it flowed down her arm into the sink, taking her pain and memories with it. She couldn't tear her eyes away even if those people were screaming at her. Red. Down her arm. Red. Down the sink. Red red red. Down the drain. It was the only time she felt okay. Though she had to do it often since the feelings didn't last long. The relief, the comfort she felt in her skin for once, how she finally loved herself in those moments, it was all too short. She needed more red. Enough to last longer. To last the rest of her life. It was the only way she'd ever be okay.

Based on this plush:

Some old poems of mine (2):

Headphones:

He yells

I put on my headphones

But even they can't drown out his anger

Or the looks that say:

"This is your fault"

"You just get in the way"

"It would be better if you never existed"

But all I can do

is put on my headphones