10.13.13 she placed the silver on her skin and took a deep breath, willing it to burn. the silver obeyed her and screamed red upon the walls and down the drain it turned pink, pain diluted with water. peachy skin stained with the memories of things past that refuse to leave shaking hands stop, pick it up, and start over again to repeat the process. near 2:47 it begins to itch. simply a reminder, an aftershock to the initial pain of rejection and abuse. she tossed and turned and yearned to be free of the prison that was that house but to no avail. they kept her there like sentinels guarding when the ones she needed guarding from were them.
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Cataract / Stevo Owens
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