I asked a friend
to point a knife at me.
He did.
I grabbed his hand,
pulled the blade
towards my chest—
and I
hesitated.
A question cracked open:
Did I still
want to live?
Before,
when this happened,
I was ready.
Now,
I felt afraid.
Was it fear?
Or was I only
meeting death
for the first time?
Questions flooded me,
a thousand at once—
But all of them dissolved
into one word:
why?
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