The Drug of a Blade


That thin, cold blade
It dances to your skin, taking bits of your happiness with each mark
Why?
Why did you only smile as the dark shade of red dripped from your flesh?
Why did you only slightly wince at the thought of ending what was so precious to me?
If only you were in my shoes, looking at you right now
Feeling the agony I felt as I watched you fade away, unable to do anything but stand and hope for the best out of the worst
Seeing the beauty in your soul
You used to dance, rather than the blade dancing
You used to smile and laugh rather lovingly
The only time blood were to drip from that pale skin of yours was if an accident happened
But now you've caused this pain upon yourself
You're addicted, and that thin piece of metal is your drug.

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This Poems Story

This poem is (yet again) another personal and original narrative poem of mine. The story behind this one is rather obvious, but I have a habit of stating the obvious so here I go: This one is about self harm, depression, and suicide compared to the happy times of that person before they fell into the habit of marking their own skin with a blade. If anybody reading this has self harmed: I care. Please, seek help, because your life is a precious thing.