The Rain On Monday

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

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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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