The Rain On Monday

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

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24. Wilting

It all started on a weary day in September, the day that a fire started burning through her skin and could not be extinguished, but ignited further by the tedious voices created inside of her head.

She held back the fire with all of her strength, but on days that she was fed up and she had no other way, she pierced herself from the outside to try to extinguish the fire burning within her, letting it seep out into a velvet waterfall.

This became her new mechanism to fighting, although she had no idea that trying to kill what’s on the inside killed her in the process.

She was bruised and battered, and everyday was a battle that she lost.

There were self-inflicted tattoos up and down her arms and legs, but she thought of them as a beautiful symbol that kept her going.

What was first pain turned to praise and she was addicted to the way that she dealt with the burning inside of her.

Very soon, people started to notice, but to no avail could they get her to talk, and all of their attempts were much in vain.

The fire spread throughout her mind, tainting every once precious memory and turning it to dust.

The center of her life became controlling the fire, and most days, she lost, for she found out too late that she was numbing it, and when she felt the apathy of parting her ways, she began to pine.

She figured that she was like a rose, and without this vital part of her life, she was wilting.

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