Fiddling with the Knife

The night gave me a knife,

The knife was swift and gleamed in the light;

The air in my throat escaped, leaving my lungs tight,

With no sight, no fear, I took flight.

In the bold and painless precision of a crafters plight,

The woozy rags of cloth were tied,

Making the wrong seem right.

But soft now are these hard thought,

The echo of a gamblers delight;

They say they will, they're told they wont,

Take up their tired souls and walk away from this earthen fight,

They speak till lips blister, scream till the yell is only sight; 

For days stuck in the same room with a weak promise "I might, I might, I might."



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Hello All,

It has come to my attention that this poem is one of my most read (I believe ?). I take on a vary serious topic that many teens and young adults battle with. I haven't checked my account in a while and am surprised by the amount of reads to be honest (seeing that I'm a nobody). I would like to be clear that I am not condoning or defending the actions of self harm on this site. I was speaking freely from a place of hurt. For those who read this and felt  a connection to my issue, I want you to know that I love you and that you will make it though. Depression is a powerful feeling but it cannot own you unless you allow it to. You have power over your life and I believe in you. Please stop self harm, it is not the solution. Readers you are in my thoughts, stay blessed. 



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