I remember, When I was eight. I held a silver blade over my pale wrist. But it told me to stop, And so I slipped it away. I remember, When I was fourteen. I brought out that same blade, Along with two others. Silver, black, blue. Yet again, They told me to forget. Regretfully, I hid them in the drawer of my wooden desk. I remember, When I was eighteen. Ready to end everything, I brought out all five of them. Silver, black, blue, white, green. For all my deadly sins, I deserved them. Tears welled but were never shed. My guardians, They told me to rise up, To continue to make memories.