Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Trinketkeeper999Poems
I still remember the first time I thought about death. Or— dying, in itself. I remember how my hands gripped the wooden handle, little fingers trembling from the intensity. I was— quite literally, holding on for life. I remember how curious I was— how my thoughts raced for endless miles. What would happen to me? Would it be messy? How would it feel? How bad does it hurt? Would anyone miss me? Am I too young? Will it get better? And so, I put away the knife. I climbed to the top of my bunk bed, each step heavy, like I was clinging to life. And I continued my cartoons.
0
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 10:25 PM UTC
I still remember
I still remember the first time I thought about death. Or— dying, in itself. I remember how my hands gripped the wooden handle, little fingers trembling from the intensity. I was— quite literally, holding on for life. I remember how curious I was— how my thoughts raced for endless miles. What would happen to me? Would it be messy? How would it feel? How bad does it hurt? Would anyone miss me? Am I too young? Will it get better? And so, I put away the knife. I climbed to the top of my bunk bed, each step heavy, like I was clinging to life. And I continued my cartoons.
Written by
Trinketkeeper999
20/F
May 15, 2025
May 15, 2025 at 10:25 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem