The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.


104. Sea

She smelled of the sea, and her hair like the wind.

She had razor blade arms, and a waist that was thinned.

The sea smelt of blood and the wind blew wild;

the razor blades tore open her skin and she finally smiled.

The waves turned to fire and the fire to ash;

the blood she had bled had filled up the sea.

Her porcelain skin and her pale blue eyes were

swallowed in the tide,

but that's what she wanted to be.

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