The rain followed her home every night and squeezed through the cracks in her eyes and found its way into her bloodstream and coursed through her veins. Quite frequently it would turn to fire and burn its way almost to the surface to boil beneath her skin and draw blood from flesh. The screams that echoed continually in every fibre of her being somehow were contained within and only rarely broke free, and even then it just made it worse. Every breath just made her more aware of her excess. Every movement made her conscious of the uncomfortable sensations of being. Every line, curve, and contour must be perfect. It must be, or the world will collapse.

Fire.

The new layer of paint on the wall is cracking,
and those all too familiar bursts of despair are seeping through the gaps.
Hopelessness courses through my body like a poison, 
turning my thoughts black,
forcing open my mouth whilst my brain screams silently inside of my skull.

It rains in the morning,
and I don’t want to get out of bed.

I am incarcerated in this body, and trapped in this mind,
and they follow me everywhere,
and there is no escape.

I am fire, 
and I am burning him alive. 

Skin.

Swirling

circling

all-encompassing

darkness

Choking

bursting

screaming

failure

Desperate

clawing

burning

hatred

Notebooks

numbers

porcelain and

pain

I am pulling out my soul

and I wish it would come out faster.