Prompt
write from the perspective of an inanimate object in your house.
I was made for creating, but all I'm used for is destroying
I'm hidden from the outside world
Trapped between the pages of a journal
Never seeing the light of day, just shreds moonlight as tears are shed from dark thoughts
The flat curve of my blade was meant for carving wood, not skin
But they must not know that, because I'm turned blunt by flesh, not clay.
The only color I ever get to see is red
I've been away for some time now
The longest I have ever been
Almost two years, according to the voice that belongs to healed scare
They tell themselves another day, another week, another month
But the journal pages are being flipped again
It's being shaken down for the content it holds
I'm pulled out of the book and held between shaky fingers
Blood doesn't rust me, but salt water tears do
