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Weapons of choice




Every time I become hurt, there’s this blade inside my mind that cuts through everything in its way. So shiny, so smooth, so silent! So comforting, knowing that I have it and can use it over and over again, to release my soul from any claws thrown my way.  How do you think it is, dancing your pain away, rising still half asleep, pushed back up on your feet, by a power that is never dormant?

Today I picked my sword up again. I wish I hadn’t…I wish it were peace…but I felt a wound bleeding from my chest. And it woke me up, lift me up savagely and I reached for my weapon. It felt like I’ve never really let it out of my hand; my fingers curled around the old handle and memories started flooding the back of my eyes. I was so good at handling the sword. Still am. 

So I lift it up above my head and started cutting the strings. I do it better when I’m getting a rhythm. So I called for a rhythm. My hands started moving methodically. My body entered a musical state. I was dancing…and cutting strings…dancing…and cutting strings…dancing…

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