Sh

I painted myself with lines I now cannot erase to set free the sickness growing inside my veins. I am sick, every cell diseased with self-loathing. It always starts the same, hooded eyes stare back at me as I occupy the bathroom floor. I do not make the decision, the act lulls me gently to another world tucked away deep inside the universe that is my brain. How could I even try to defy hooded eyes filled with hate. Any attempt would fail. Slowly the hate in those eyes echo inside my hollow chest. It boils over my hostile hearts and suddenly it's happening. Skin tears until the thrill is gone, and when it is, green eyes cry.