A snippet based on the word "Macabre"
Mirror image of herself, staring blankly from the void of silver glass. Eyes black and hollow, consuming light. Skin too pale, nourished by nothing but coffee and cigarettes. Dark clothes stolen from the mall when she was feeling bold, stolen from the thrift stores and Salvation Army donation piles when she was feeling meek. Scars running up her arms, wrist to elbow, from where she pressed the red bud of her cigarettes into her soft flesh, releasing the sweet ecstasy she’s come to associate with pain.
All she needs is someone to hold on to. To catch her when she falls. All she wants is someone to be there for her. To be there forever, until the universe collapses upon itself. Right until the very end, so she doesn’t have to be alone anymore. So she doesn’t have to struggle against the darkness by herself. So she doesn’t have to feel like this, feel the burns and agony that come in the night.
Every time she reaches out, her hand hits the cold glass, and she shivers, retracts the hand back to her side. She stares down at her scars, traces them with lithe fingers, feather touch. She shudders at the sensation, remembers the feel of fire on skin, the pleasure and the loneliness that come from the sacred act of self mutilation. Her eyes return to the mirror, staring back at her in shades of grey.
-Mai
All she needs is someone to hold on to. To catch her when she falls. All she wants is someone to be there for her. To be there forever, until the universe collapses upon itself. Right until the very end, so she doesn’t have to be alone anymore. So she doesn’t have to struggle against the darkness by herself. So she doesn’t have to feel like this, feel the burns and agony that come in the night.
Every time she reaches out, her hand hits the cold glass, and she shivers, retracts the hand back to her side. She stares down at her scars, traces them with lithe fingers, feather touch. She shudders at the sensation, remembers the feel of fire on skin, the pleasure and the loneliness that come from the sacred act of self mutilation. Her eyes return to the mirror, staring back at her in shades of grey.
-Mai