Dead
The sobs bubbled over like day old vomit up her throat and threatened to pour out of her mouth but still she swolled them back, their vile bitterness stinging her insides. Her eyes felt like they were on fire simply by holding the tears at bay. She feared that once she started she wouldn't be able to stop.
What's so wrong about crying anyway?
Everything was wrong with crying. Crying was a sign of weakness, it was a way of admitting that she had lost, but she hadn't. She had held on tenaciously hoping against all odds that she would survive and she had and this was what she wanted.
What's the price of strength?
Her wrists showed signs of her survival. Old wounds and new ones healing to form a tangled spiderweb on her arm. Patterns showing where she had cut before and again worn proudly like battle scars, each one a proclamation that she would live and that she was merely tempting death. A hole where her heart used to be, on the ground the pieces shattered and left there to crumble some more into the dust.
Where does the soul go to weap?
She sits in the darkness once again, afraid of what the light might behold. She reads the words overa nd over, 'come with me' they say. Thy call out to her but she cannot andwer. She has no voice, she killed that a long time ago. Only in the darkness, the deepest night is she able to find that bit of humaniy she once had. But then, she reminds herself of how it felt when her heart was shattered so thoughtlessly by another into a million tiny pieces and how they were left to crumble to dust on the ground and she closes up again. Becoming cold like ice and hard like stone.
How does the shadow live?
Her life is a routine and nothing can ever take her by surprise again. She decides that the best way to live is to feel nothing at all and always to be in control and so that is what she does. She dried up the well of tears, closed the gates to the courtyard which once held her heart and hid the key away. She does the bare minimum to stay alive and chooses to ignore the soft cries she hears from the courtyard which once held her heart. She's deaf, dumb and blind. She lives but just barely, hardly what one would call alive.
Cold as ice, hard as stone.
What's so wrong about crying anyway?
Everything was wrong with crying. Crying was a sign of weakness, it was a way of admitting that she had lost, but she hadn't. She had held on tenaciously hoping against all odds that she would survive and she had and this was what she wanted.
What's the price of strength?
Her wrists showed signs of her survival. Old wounds and new ones healing to form a tangled spiderweb on her arm. Patterns showing where she had cut before and again worn proudly like battle scars, each one a proclamation that she would live and that she was merely tempting death. A hole where her heart used to be, on the ground the pieces shattered and left there to crumble some more into the dust.
Where does the soul go to weap?
She sits in the darkness once again, afraid of what the light might behold. She reads the words overa nd over, 'come with me' they say. Thy call out to her but she cannot andwer. She has no voice, she killed that a long time ago. Only in the darkness, the deepest night is she able to find that bit of humaniy she once had. But then, she reminds herself of how it felt when her heart was shattered so thoughtlessly by another into a million tiny pieces and how they were left to crumble to dust on the ground and she closes up again. Becoming cold like ice and hard like stone.
How does the shadow live?
Her life is a routine and nothing can ever take her by surprise again. She decides that the best way to live is to feel nothing at all and always to be in control and so that is what she does. She dried up the well of tears, closed the gates to the courtyard which once held her heart and hid the key away. She does the bare minimum to stay alive and chooses to ignore the soft cries she hears from the courtyard which once held her heart. She's deaf, dumb and blind. She lives but just barely, hardly what one would call alive.
Cold as ice, hard as stone.
posted by Princess A at 8/15/2005
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