It was at 12 that I lay a blade against my collarbone
and scratched it ever so slightly so
that no one would notice
and no one would care.
It was at 12 that the blades started becoming a gift box regular
and that when I said
i am not okay
I was told to be too young for this.
It was at 12.

It was at 13 that my fingers began to resemble a harp
and that my blades had only gone bigger
and sharper.
It was at 13 that I held my pulse and ever so softly smiled
at the prospect of not existing
and it was then
I knew,
that my cuts have surpassed my age.
It was at 13.

It was at 14 that I slowly put my blades away
only to return to a scissor
and to wring my arms as red as blood
and as helpless as the rusted scissor.
It was at 14 that I knew there is something terribly wrong
and that the last 2 years have stopped being a phase
but a routine in itself.
It was at 14.

It was at 15 that I knew the last 3 years of my life are not something of an blurry phase, but prolonged doom.
that my words started getting a shade greyer, and my
mind has too given up processing
anything that resembles melancholy

for to feel,
is to hurt
and I've had enough.
but
that passed, so shall this.
that passed,
so shall this.

It was at 15.

•••

Been a while.