October 1
I've started to play with fire. It is an interesting thing. It dances gracefully across the dry grass I've gathered, like a ballerina, yet it destroys everything in its path, much like me. I want to feel beautiful and graceful like the fire. In a desperate attempt, I plunge my fingertips into the flames. I feel the beauty of the fire for a moment, but it hurts. I draw my hand back quickly and stare as the fleshy pads on my fingertips start to angrily glow red. I cry because the fire is like me, it destroys much of what it touches, but it cannot stop itself.
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I Wear A Beaded Necklace
Dla nastolatkówThis is the story of an unknown. The voices in her head started to eat her from the inside out, so she took her friend's advice and tried to write about it, in hopes that it might lessen the Noise. Take a look into the unknown's soul, watch her play...
