Rose Scented Scars

I reminisce on silent thoughts on the days I wanted to kill myself
Still, I didn’t want to die
there was a force, whether of friction or the just the undying thought in the back of my head that someone somewhere would miss me;
this is what held me from pulling the trigger
“One of these days I swear I’m just going to end it all; these feelings are overcoming my train of thought”
This was a common phrase i said constantly and daily
Still, I didn’t want to die
I was in a default setting for a portion of my childhood
The concept that the the world revolved around me and I only. I felt as if whatever pain I was going through during the time would never pass and that, I myself was only “going through this”.
Of course this was highly untrue
Thus, I began to erase that doctrine from this wretched powerhouse that fueled the very thoughts that’s prevented me from even wanting to start my day
Yet, still I didn’t want to die
It was simpler Simpler to not feel
As it was easy
Easy to be just “okay”
For “okay” was a default for my depression That defined the very beginning of it
It took more courage to let go than to hold on;
Constantly repainting the colors because the lie was wearing off after each “okay” and “I’m fine/it’s fine”
Sometimes I let go, or so I think
Other days I might’ve just gotten numb to the feeling and mistaken it for deliverance

But, even after it all
Still, I didn’t want to die

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