I do not know anymore. No matter how many beaded necklaces I have, I do not feel pretty. I still do not know how to swim. The porcelain bowl is starting to regret listening to my problems. My only friend hurt me so badly, and I had to hide it from everyone. My demons have taken up a permanent residence in my mind. I look in the mirror, and I cannot see a thing, no ugly, no rust. I cannot scrub my lies away. My skin is raw and blistered. My sheets cannot be cleaned. I am no longer afraid. I still find the idea of death to be savory. So I close my eyes, tilt my head, bottoms up, as I fill my greedy stomach with something that will take the stain of my life out of the fabric.
YOU ARE READING
I Wear A Beaded Necklace
Roman pour AdolescentsThis 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...
