Swallowing, engulfing blackness.
Holding her, cold hands crawling over her skin,
Through her head, in her mind.
Harsh and dead, invading and violating.
She hurt all over.
The darkness was suffocating her.
Her body was filled with pain.
She was losing her grip,
Fading... Surrendering....
Her eyes jerked open.
Lungs pulled in great heaves of air.
Everything was cold and damp with pain.
It was still in her.
Frantically, she cried out.
But no one came.
She was alone.
With only her head and it's agony.
She was dying from within.
She needed it out
Couldn't stand it in her
She knew what she had to do
She'd done it often enough before
Moonlight bathed her room in the dusty gray of midnight and solidarity.
She pulled herself up and crossed the dark room to her mirror.
Her hair was wild around her, framing her waxen skin in deathly pale.
Her eyes, ringed so heavily in thick black were red and bloodshot.
Her lips, painted a deep ruby quivered as tears traced coal down her cheeks.
She opened the box where she kept them
She reached without looking away
And gripped the razor tight
She held her breath
Counted to three
Five quick scores crisscrossed her wrist.
She exhaled as the blood, nearly black, bloomed up.
The darkness flowed out with it, leaving her free and weightless,
Held both up and down by nothing but the skin and bones of her body.
Falling down on her bed, tears swept her face.
Blood, hardly visible on the black of her sheets,
Stood out terrifyingly on the snow of her skin.
Warm and cleansed, she finally felt comfort.
No longer helpless in her own skin.
Still the tears ran, though.
Not for fear, not for pain,
For currently, she had neither.
But for the next day
For when she woke.
To live more of this life.
For that she cried.
And for that she bled.
