Literature
There She Is
When i reach down deep inside of me, buried beneath the drugs and weightless happy, I find her.
She is much like me, though contrary to popular belief, I am not like her. She is my darkness.
She wrote her fears in her skin and on paper, ink and blood making no difference
to the words that rushed from her anxious pores. A scratched black gem of sorts, if analogies could be so accurate.
Her self concious stature proved too much for many, this constant ring in the back of her head, three words always loudest: "never good enough"
When I let her talk, she's brutal. Bruises to an already marred mind, she's not kind to herself or anyone else.