Her whispers were like poison, coursing through my head like blood through my veins. An icy headache freezing my eyes to her fixed position on my bed. Her skin was pale and frosted like glass, spreading the dark emptiness from her open lips. Nothing shone like her dark glossy hair, fading out across the bed sheets; tangled and matted but smooth as stone.
The ratted bandages tight on her arms and squeezing her ribs to where she wouldn't breathe, deforming her body into what she thought was beauty. Nothing was more horrific than her bright green eyes covered in white, blood shot and empty. The ceiling must be so interesting....
But there, her hands, with fingers gripping the bed sheets so tightly. Her manicured nails and scarless palms reaching toward her freedom of escape; her knuckles turned bloodless-white from useless trying.
This was an end, but a beginning all the same.
 The-Poison-Muffin · Sat Jun 09, 2012 @ 02:59am · 0 Comments |
