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Mar 2017
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.
all credits go to my friend, c.g.
pluviophile
Written by
pluviophile  17/F/silver wings
(17/F/silver wings)   
451
 
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