.:Mira's Photo Album:. (and more stuff)

No pictures here :')

So this one isn't exactly photos, it's a poem I wrote!
New lines are capitalized.

TW: talking about sh and su*c*de, mention of drugs/pills, other possible triggers (let me know if I missed any)

Lacking sufficient support, even the strongest tower will fall.
Without someone to watch their blind spots, powerful warriors can perish.
Having no army, the most esteemed generals can lose a war.
With no one and nowhere to fall back to, stepping into the world is terrifying.

We turn to people we admire for advice.
We search for solace in people we love.
When we turn around for acknowledgement and are met with empty space,
We question why we even tried.

And when that acknowledgement is instead criticism and disappointed glares,
We're met with two choices:
Move forward and live off of what we're given by people who don't matter or those who matter less,
Or take what we've been told to heart, and crumble.

Many of us don't know how to keep going after being hit.
Those of us who don't know may turn to blades as our support.
They take our minds off of the internal pain of feeling abandoned,
They replace it with a sharp sting, and a splash of warm blood.

But when the knives and razors aren't enough, and the road ahead is painful to see, there are ropes.
And rooftops.
And pills.
And drugs
And firearms.
And busy roads.
And empty pantries.

The lies we tell ourselves, that we are obsolete, slowly become reality in our heads.
Sometimes we believe that no one will care enough to stop us.
Sometimes we're wrong.
And when that godsent hand tugs us back away from that chair,
Or that ledge,
Or that prescription bottle,
Or that line of powder,
Or that pistol,
Or that highway,
We question:

Why?
Why save us?
What is there about us that's worth saving?
How did you know we were here, what we were planning?

We often, not always, but sometimes don't see how close we were to death,
Not until we step back and take a look.
We might thank you for saving us.
We might lash out.
We might take a running leap before you can stop us.
It's a sign of how desperate we are for release, the path we choose next.
If we aren't truly ready, or aren't anymore, you can tell.

And when that curtain drops, and you see the pain and frustration we held inside,
Be the wooden beams that hold our stones in place.
Be the sniper or the swordsman who keeps an eye on us in the heat of battle.
Be the fleet that protects us.
Be the person and the home that we can go to if we need you.
Be someone we look up to.
Be someone who cares.

Because in the end, if our savior stands back and watches as we walk the line of life and death,
Why bother trying to save us from it the first time?

Length: 53 lines