Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Whispery Silvery

"I don't remember what it was like before," I murmur dreamily.

"Before what?" she asks, the sharp edge of her voice cutting into me.

Cutting into me.
Metal on flesh.
Blade on armour.

"Before the destruction of self-destruction," I whisper.

Whispers in the wind catch my thoughts.
Snatch them.
Steal them away into the fluffy white clouds.
Empty me.
Clean me.

My canvas could be wiped clean of marks, of those scars that brand me. They could disappear, in her mind. I could have bare skin so pale it blinds the moonlight, free of silvery licks.

She doesn't understand though.
Scars are the tip of the iceberg.
She doesn't see the deep wounds buried underneath.

Nothing will fully heal. Nothing will disappear. 

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