Tw: mentions of suicide and self-harm.
Little kids use me to slice through paper,
others through skin.
Sometimes. Am taken from classrooms or stores.
Can be covered n paper shavings or red liquid.
Innocent children who have their whole lives ahead of them, cut lines on their wrists because they no longer want to exist.
I can be used for arts and crafts,
or suicide.
They say don't run with things like me,
but that doesn't apply to the tear streaked faces who feel empty inside.
They say don't do t.
It's not worth it, but they never listen.
One pair,
has stopped too many hearts.
One pair,
has helped too many succeed.
One pair.
Has caused too many deaths.
I have caused too much regret.
I'm only two pieces of steel.
And yet, I'm a thief to the kids who clutch me tight in their hands.
The same hands that hold the loved ones,
who will soon find them laying on the bathroom floor,
in a puddle of blood and remorse.
YOU ARE READING
Trigger warning...
Poetry⚠️TRIGGER WARNING⚠️: mentions of r@pe, p!lls, su!cide, s3lf-harm, eating d*sorders, ab*se A poem.
