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when the feared meets the fearful [kire]
Sept 29, 2015 19:48:42 GMT -5
Post by brad bradford ★ d5b [arx] on Sept 29, 2015 19:48:42 GMT -5
Jequirity Eckhart
in this white wave
My scars are exposed for the whole world to see for the first time in 3 years. And I hate it. Now everyone will know --- know my fear, know my story, know everything. Letting the rest of the world see the roadmap of scars traced over the contours of my body was as descriptive as if I were to ope my mouth and speak. (No, no, I can't do that. No talking, no, never, not again, no, please, no--- ) This--- I'm going to faint if I'm in here any longer.
I fold my arms over my chest in a futile attempt to hide the soft pink lines put there by the embodiment of death herself. Three years I've hidden my weakness, hidden my fears from the rest of the world. Only my family knew about the crazy lady who tried to carve me up, only they knew why I couldn't even think of uttering a single word without--- panic.
A wall of knives towers in front of me, a shining, glimmering wall of pure fucking silver. My heart thumps in my chest, my breathing halts midway. (Relax, just knives. Just--- nothing. Just nothing, nothing, nothing but--- ) I hear her voice in my head, itching at the back of my mind. I've learned to close those doors, the ones that hold the memories of the day I was tied down, cut up, and broken.
("Scream, girl. Scream. Tell me how much it hurts. Tell me, darling.")
And all I can do is stare at the wall plastered with knives, paralyzed.
I fold my arms over my chest in a futile attempt to hide the soft pink lines put there by the embodiment of death herself. Three years I've hidden my weakness, hidden my fears from the rest of the world. Only my family knew about the crazy lady who tried to carve me up, only they knew why I couldn't even think of uttering a single word without--- panic.
A wall of knives towers in front of me, a shining, glimmering wall of pure fucking silver. My heart thumps in my chest, my breathing halts midway. (Relax, just knives. Just--- nothing. Just nothing, nothing, nothing but--- ) I hear her voice in my head, itching at the back of my mind. I've learned to close those doors, the ones that hold the memories of the day I was tied down, cut up, and broken.
("Scream, girl. Scream. Tell me how much it hurts. Tell me, darling.")
And all I can do is stare at the wall plastered with knives, paralyzed.
in this silence, i believe
