Untitled

The voice that whispers for blood whIle it watches me fall to pieces. An account from the perspective of personified self harm

Hello, again.

I watched you through the window, when the storm clouds gathered around the chandelier.

You got drenched in the downpour.

But you smiled, even when your books burned, your precious rabbit hole escape.

And I often ponder what the sound I heard was.

Like a breaking heart,

But I know yours was ripped out long ago.

What is left in your electronic circuit body?

My little marionette

I watched you from the window, because you wouldn't let me in, my doll.

I could take away the fog, love, that wraps around your mind.

With streaks of crimson blood.

Author's Note

Help come up with a title?