Servitude To Your Own Thoughts
The precious metallic potion bubbling on the surface of her punctured epidermis were once blood that pumped along her veins,
she realized; the same blood that rushed to the capillaries in her cheeks and tinted them red when she looked at him, the same blood that beaded at her lip like dew drops when she chews them anxiously, blood that now drip drip dripped into the bathtub, and out of her.
she is witnessing all her heart bleeding. she is witnessing all of that same blood, seeping and burgeoning all around her like underwater smoke; as pretty as watercolors (like him), as crimson as tragedy (like her).
She smiled. to be pure; to rid of his touch, his memories, is to bleed him all out.
"Let him bleed." she murmured, eyes shut, floating in space.
Yeah, right.
Let her heart cook in the captivity of her ribs.
Let her heart marinate in its own hell.
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