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The Poison of your blade

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I watch you sometimes, observe your ways
You with the sad, miserable eyes
I remember you, and your past
Dark and menacing, it creeps on past you every day
Your eyes were once
The most beautiful emerald green
With flecks of sky blue
And what did you do?
You painted them gray, with yourself protective paint brush
That you keep locked away
I loved you once, now no more
You once had such a beautiful, innocent body
Untouched, Flawless
And then you saw
The blade, sitting by your own bed
It watched you
All the time, it’s eyes beckoning you
Just one cut, you won’t die
You tried, I know, not to give in, but the aroma of a way out
Was so inviting, and toxic; like poison
That you slipped off your icy cliff
And fell into oblivion
Into the realm of darkness that is your mind
I watch you sometimes as you walk the halls
Your tired feet barely make a sound
On the linoleum floor that reminds you of your best friend
So glamorous and beautiful to you
Your head droops it hardly moves
You have succumbed to being invisible
Your clothes are black; not pure black. No
But faded black
Even they have lost hope for you
I loved you, and I remember you
People tried to talk to you
Pretending to listen
You were stubborn
And said nothing, because they were really was
Nothing to be said for you
All they saw was what they called a problem teen
But you believed that you were fine, just fine
You were breathing, right?
So what did it matter that they thought you were a problem teen
You were 17, able to handle yourself
Yet so fragile that
If a feather landed on your starvation thin shoulder
It might make you bleed all over
And then you would not just be a problem teen
But a suicidal teen; because they loved labels
It was the only way to somehow understand you
And your perfectly fine ways of living
Your parents, well who knows where they are
It’s been too long for anyone to remember
You live alone in an endless drone
For which there isn’t a pretty tone
Because my love, you are alone
In this mean, rotten world. Alone.
You know, I found your note, lying next to your phone
It gleamed like your salvation; the glamorous blade you swore you never touched
It became your damnation
Your own personal imitation
Of what it meant to be forsaken and alone
I cared about you, you know, I loved you
And watched you, but you never caught on, did you?
You, you, you.
What about you?
I went to your funeral, is that enough for you?
Or, even now, do I have to do more for you?
Because I really don’t want to
I’m sick of you.
What about you? What is there to remember about you?
Nameless you. Most of them don’t remember you at all
You remain a distant memory
That blackened their name in a way
That was part of your perfectly fine ways
You swore you wouldn’t do it again
Ever. Again.
But you just couldn’t listen
To the only good part of you left
Your beating heart, which kept you alive for so long
Only to be shattered
And broken as if it were fragile glass and not holding out any hope for you
I waited for when you would realize the errors
Of your perfectly fine ways, how they were destroying you bit by bit, and hour by hour
The blade was your only salvation from the world and its evil ways
I once believed that you were more than the blade. Now I’m not so sure I could even
Look you in the face much less offer you comfort for your perfectly fine ways
You
You
You
Well what about you?
I told the world about you. They felt for you when you left you know.
But you would have no part of it. Just you. Well what about you?



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haleeskie said...
Jan. 25, 2013 at 9:38 pm
This is really deep and i know exacly how it can feel to have a friend fall so deep into depression that they feel  the need to replace the mental pain with physical. When they go to far it feels like you could have done something but after you really think abou it you realize there was nothing that could have been done, no matter how much you love that friend.
 
Your my boy said...
Jan. 25, 2013 at 4:05 pm
It was greatness
 
PCPman said...
Jan. 25, 2013 at 9:58 am
What a wonderful piece. I work with adolescents at a mental institution and deal with many cutters and suicidal teens. Reading through this brought tears to my eyes because of the stories I have heard from them. I always stress to them that the really should try to envision their arm as the arm of somebody who they themselves really love and care about because when they cut their arm, in effect, they ARE cutting the arm of someone who loves and cares for them.
 
adinohman This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jan. 25, 2013 at 1:34 am
you shouldnt of even wasted that on teen ink, thats a beautiful work of english, send your next too a actuall literary magazine. i hate teen ink, they ripp you off take your work and sell it for there own profit, the bastards! 
 
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