Once upon a time there was a girl who hated herself, the life she lived was too difficult to deal with. So one night she slit her wrists, and cried herself to sleep. She slept the slumber of one who shall never wake again. In the night a feast of blood and flesh began. As the night drug on to become day, the corpse warmed and her heart begun to beat. Fragile white fingers traced up her arm as the sun roes in the sky. No sunlight could penetrate the boarded window that lined the room she was in. As she was in a room filled with only the light that emanated from her own body. Up the arms that were scared from so many attempts the fingers moved. Along the soft yet cold skin they drifted on their way to her cheek.
Lost and on her own · Tue Aug 29, 2006 @ 02:46am · 0 Comments |