Red streak on my forearms. Let the paint drip. The pain sink in. Darkness overtake me.
Wrist to elbow. A crack on my brown skin. Or is it white? Or am I black?
Who else knows my skin? My body? My face? I'm not a color. Transpicous.
My skin doesn't wear lines because my need to be needed hasn't been fulfilled. Carved core deep into my soul, my knife's print serve as a reminder that I'm needed by the wrong person.
Embrace the cold, summer glow. The solace alone brings. I'll be at peace. Or at war. But I'll be gone.
And he can't follow.
YOU ARE READING
THE LONGEST WALK IN THE GARDEN
Horrorthriller/horror/suspense intros idk what they are, I just know there's murder and death so have fun and don't trip over a knife ✌🏽
