He held the blade to my throat as if he were seeing if it'd fit the same as his hands.
Threatening me with an everlasting scar.
Is this how I'm meant to end?
Is this blade my legacy?
He pulls it from my throat and hands it to me, spreading his arms as if he were to fly.
But he doesn't move.
Instead, he beckons for me to harm him.
And claims that he deserves it.
Claims he deserves all of the pain in the world just because of pain he's given to others so many times.
I raise the blade.
He holds his eyes tightly shut.
I strike the wall in a fit of rage.
Jamming it there.
My eyes pouring like waterfalls.
He says I'll be okay.
I don't wish to stay.
