poetry.

keeping me from death

As I draw the blade to my skin

As I've done before, hundreds of times

As I'm about to give in

As I have before, so easily

Something within me

Tells me to stop

Tells me to breathe

Tells me to live.

I try and think of what it could be

After all, it wasn't the first time

Nor will it be the last time I'll see

Blood pouring, thick and fast

Down my legs

Over my arms

Like the crimson thread

Stitching my heart.

But this time--this time I don't.

This time a lovely silken voice

Winds its way through my mind

Giving me a choice

Between darkness and light.

It shines into the corners of my head

And breathes to life the things

I thought were long dead.

Such a blissful sound it was--

Like a wave crashing to the shore

Or a satin cloth

That only royalty wore.

So I pack up my blade

And roll down my sleeves

And for the very first time

I'm in control of me.

This voice caresses my broken heart

And adds another stitch to the wound

And leaves me in the comfortable darkness

Of my little room.

And I sleep like a child

And dream of dandelion breaths

For it was your voice

Who kept me from death.