A/N: For what it’s worth: I gathered this from a note I wrote to a suicidal stranger. Title inspired by Ben Harper’s song with the same name.
You are gold.
not golden, but of
the kind of metal
refined by fire.
as for “beautiful” -
I think it’s overused, but
I’d say the aesthetics
of your essence, the
inscriptions on the
caverns of your mind
are lovely.
the blood cells in your marrow
are courageous; you
have the nerve to
shave apathy from your
outer skeleton. you allow
for desperation to flow
from your cavities.
we are all storehouses
for distress,
though not many
of us reach for the
scalpel. let
your wounds drain.
if you’ll look inside yourself
at that sheen of
laceration, you’ll
see the reflection
of fate’s spectrum:
it’s a splay of vibrance
and color and brightness
and not just the red
you’ve adjusted to.
don’t let anyone break
the glass;
I’m not leaving you
alone with what’s been
shattered. mirrors are
made of metal too,
and gold is worth more
than aluminum.
Points: 669
Reviews: 132
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