Time wilts as the shadows fade to ash but the burn, the need lingers. It consumes all rational thinking. The girl that is me knows this... She feels, breaths, and bathes in the agony that pours out of her, latching on to the unsuspecting. Her eyes hunt, capture, and trapped those rays of light before extinguishing them. Her mind is her favorite play place; a sanctuary.
It teases her, caresses and shatters her sanity, leaving a corpse in her place. One that is left to bleed from invisible scars. Words spoken without her control, suggestions that leaves her part of a whole.
She is left to walk amongst the twisted chasm between your world and hers. Feet bare as she trods a path of her own, where in darkness she sees light. In torment she becomes free, alone. Maiming, killing, seducing, she does this as lips part, blue eyes taking the heart as snow white hands cusp the blood that is spilled.
This... This is her playroom.
