originally posted on my personal blog, wildcharismaandwanderlust.wordpress.com
She was a girl, alone.
She felt like finger nails scratched across a chalkboard
The ingratiating screech of a banshee
The quiet that befalls a public execution
As the prisoner takes the lone walk to his imposing beheading.
She’s shrouded in a wave of insecurity, anxiety, dread.
The one who chokes herself to sleep
To elude darts being thrown at her head
She’s a target, a weakling, a sniveling wreck
Susceptible to the images that flash behind her eyelids at night.
She saw blood once,
It was a peaceful sight.
She had just wrung her wrists
And thought, stabbing them would be fun.
She really liked the color red.
She broke her legs
On the double edged sword
Of bitter lies and daggered hurt.
It poisoned her soul;
A drop of black on a canvas of red.
She’d wondered whether it was possible
To walk in a straight line
When your mind is running in zig-zags.
If you could bludgeon yourself to death
With your raw, twisted ankles.
The girl peeled back her fingers from her clenched fist
To tear out her own eyeballs.
So that she could never again see
His body, laid to rest
Pale and still and gone.