Poetry: “Soft and Fast”

*WARNING: This could be a trigger for people facing suicidal thoughts*

 

When I was young I had a fascination with knives.

My mind did this thing where I would think about one object or one person, then suddenly, my mind wouldn’t stir from the topic. Anything my mind could latch onto, it did. Sometimes it took a half hour, a few hours, or days before my mind completely drifted elsewhere. During this time I felt obsessed with something that meant nothing to me. Until, I started to believe the topic was important, maybe even essential to me.

Knives were one of those things, but oddly, they popped in my mind when I was happy or sad, anxious or mad. My thoughts weren’t prejudice to any emotion. It would just randomly appear, and I never meant for any of it. Sometimes it was just an image, sometimes it was how I could use the knife.

I pin most of this on my depression. I was suicidal when I was younger, from 6th-10th grade. I always thought about ways in which I could kill myself, but I never followed through. I’m lucky in that way, but that didn’t make anything easier. I could barely stop where my mind was taking me. Sometimes I believed my thoughts were killing me more than any knife could.

This poem is about those knives.

 

 

Soft and Fast                   by: Rose Clifford

Her purple lips puckered,

Stained violet from the cold.

Her eyes pooling tears,

She fed the empty room,

With her silent woes.

 

Clutching her pale hands,

Fidgeting for repose.

Revealing the veins-

The roots of blue-

Tracing her body map.

 

She a swollen vessel,

Unfit for this synthetic pain.

Dizzying.

Dizzying.

Dizzying,

Shame.

 

The knife slipped the skin-

Soft and fast.

Red soon appeared-

A bracelet for her wrist,

Crowning the unforgiving past.

 

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