She craves it, for it's better than anything she feels. She deserves it; she ate too much and is worth too little. Her mind is cluttered and disorganized-where did she put it? Such a dull face, transparent beauty. Who could ever love her? Why should she love herself? How could she love herself, with such an acquired heart of hate? Her stupid mind remembers and he stupid hands reaches for the blade. Her broken spirits cry and her forearm splits into two; such a beautiful sight for her clouded eyes. The compulsion to dig deeper is fueled by the darkness threatening to swallow her whole. She must keep running; put it off for another day. She's sick and weary, and knows she can't live this way forever. She's drowning because she can't swim, but knows no one can save her. Buried in her heart lies lies the knowledge she needs but can't understand. No one can understand. What's it like to feel claustrophobic in your own skin, begging for a way out? What's it like, hurting to feel pain? Being weak from exhaustion every day, knowing you can't live this way much longer puts you to sleep. The anxiety, reminding you of things you don't want to remember, teaching you things you don't want to know, keeps you up.


This is where her life ends. This is all she knows, and all she'll ever know. (She just





doesn't






know it







yet.)