I can see my door, my bed, my window, my chair, and my table.
I can feel my spine against the wall, my feet against the floor, my jaw tightly shut, and my fingernails buried in my arms.
I can hear the wind coming in from the open window, my heartbeat rapidly thumping, and that familiar voice in my head, shouting once again.
I can smell the dampness of the ground outside as the breeze carries it to my room, and the sickly sweet odor from the soap used on my hands.
I can taste my blood spilling from the bite in my lip; my last harsh reminder that I am still alive.
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YOU ARE READING
Heart-Talk
SpiritualI am but a lowly instrument to the muses . This is life through my eyes, Welcome. ?
