Cold blade. Warm blood. My fingers softly dance upon the tool responsible for my demise. A steady stream of tears stroll down my cheek; landing with a plat on the chilling tile floor. Metal touches skin indenting the malleable surface. In the catalogue of my mind I see all the smiles from distant memories, and the stories follow in turn. You’re stronger than this; my mind labored my restrained lips to mouth the words. Another tear hits the floor. I dislocate the blade from it’s inevitable home. Stash it away just like I will this memory, and go on living life to be there for the people that are in the same position as I.

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