The sweater grew too tight, a suffocating weight, once loose and soft, now clinging, like fear pressed against my chest. The air, thick and dense, choked me with its stillness, and somehow, the lack of breath sent a twisted pleasure coursing through my veins. I surrendered— not to the world, but to the pain, pulled my blade from its hiding place, and let its sharpness kiss my skin. Red lines blossomed like inked confessions, carved deep, traced by trembling hands. I stared as they turned to pale scars, wondering if I had gone too far— but how could I stop when this was the only way I knew to feel alive? I met my reflection, hollow-eyed, mascara streaks like shadows of defeat. It looked as if I had given up, but in that moment, with the blade in hand, I was mesmerized by the crimson flow, the quiet beauty in the red that painted my escape.
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Showing posts from November, 2024