There was a time when I convinced myself it had all been a dream. I woke up, saw the nightmare, cried, went back to sleep.
Tonight, I recall the the pointy blade aiming for life, the knife's wooden handle being pulled away. Maybe nobody remembers it anymore, but back then, I didn't know what was happening so I cried really loud. It was a suicide attempt right before my very eyes. I was too innocent to understand, but I was old enough to remember that it wasn't a dream. I had believed it was just a bad dream.
Tonight, I heard about how angry words wrestled an empty sheet of paper out of frustration. What I couldn't see, my ears revealed. I heard steel trashing wood, over and over and over again. There were no screams, only muffled cries. Whatever it was, it was certainly worse than suicide. Maybe tomorrow I'll forget about it, but tonight I will cry silently.
I was awake, witnessed the nightmare, cried and tried to go to sleep. The mind has its way of forgetting unwanted things. The last hour did not happen - it was just a bad dream. I just need more convincing this time.
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