Crimson tide

She can paint a pretty picture but this story has a twist, the paint brush is a shinny razor and the canvas is her wrist.

As the brush strokes the canvas and leaves red horizontal lines, she can slowly feel the pain and screams being released from inside.

The walls begin to close in, and everything fades to black; she thinks to herself “thank you god….don’t let anyone bring me back.”

The voices in her head confirm she is worthless and should die, all she can do now is lay there and cry.

As she lies in her sheets turned into crimson tide, the blood begins to drain and the pain slowly subsides.

Because don’t you see she has a master of a sharp, evil kind; one that posses her soul, body, and mind.

They live inside her mind where evilness prevails, her demons are far from fairy-tails. This is the girl no one really knows, for inside her walls she is forever enclosed