K
NI
VES
are sharp
in birth but
blunt against
words. Though
I have become
used to pulling
knives from my
back, the words
that are said are
dropping pebble
in a still pond, rip-
pling through my
soul till the end of
days. Wounds heal,
right? The pain still
feels too fresh. And
do scars fade? How
many do I have? Oh
well. I guess, no, I am
grateful, to be honest.
For every knife, I've cut
the cords of things unn-
ecessary. But the demons
plague. My face is but stone.
My tears are void.
My heart is black.
The bare slashes
on me, I can deal
with. I can cope.
I can cope well.
I can cope. I can
cope. I can cope.
I-I-I just wish for
one thing. I just
wish that I was
easy to fix. I wi-
sh it was easy to
breathe. Am I
dying? Here?
Alone? Yes...I
am, aren't I? Fr-
om my first bre-
ath, I slowly be-
gan to die.
Sep 6, 2017
Sep 6, 2017 at 12:59 PM UTC
K
NI
VES
are sharp
in birth but
blunt against
words. Though
I have become
used to pulling
knives from my
back, the words
that are said are
dropping pebble
in a still pond, rip-
pling through my
soul till the end of
days. Wounds heal,
right? The pain still
feels too fresh. And
do scars fade? How
many do I have? Oh
well. I guess, no, I am
grateful, to be honest.
For every knife, I've cut
the cords of things unn-
ecessary. But the demons
plague. My face is but stone.
My tears are void.
My heart is black.
The bare slashes
on me, I can deal
with. I can cope.
I can cope well.
I can cope. I can
cope. I can cope.
I-I-I just wish for
one thing. I just
wish that I was
easy to fix. I wi-
sh it was easy to
breathe. Am I
dying? Here?
Alone? Yes...I
am, aren't I? Fr-
om my first bre-
ath, I slowly be-
gan to die.
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