Why do you ask whose blood it is on my hands,
Knowing you were the one who cut through me
YOU ARE READING
Small Voices
Short StoryWhile I sit alone, the voices whisper in my head. I close my eyes to hear them say."write us.... don't let us die when you're dead....."
Bleeding
Why do you ask whose blood it is on my hands,
Knowing you were the one who cut through me
