Member-only story
Fatal Thorns.
My fingers are bleeding profusely.
My blood is running like a waterfall. Slow and calm. Yet each drop of blood that falls to the surface below, is yet another reminder of my pain. My fingers are screaming. My fingers are on fire.
It’s hurting badly now.
Make it stop.
Please.
Just make it stop!
The deceit.
The lying.
The betrayal.
The back-stabbing.
The carelessness.
The agony of you not being here.
The agony of your words.
The agony of your silence.
The agony I feel is poisoning my insides.
The agony I feel is all-consuming, intoxicating, like venom it’s swirling around my veins causing me to feel paralysed.
Paralysed.
Like a white, hot branding iron, impaling flesh.
You’ve hurt me.
And now I feel dead.
Like fatal thorns piercing skin from an innocent rose. The thorns are like swords in a raging war. They’re slicing and tearing through my skin, carving long train tracks of innocent blood.
And I’m feeling it now.
It’s excruciating.
You’ve won. You’ve won.
I officially feel worthless.
You’ve won. You’ve won.
Unimportant.
And worthless.
Can you make it stop?
Can you make it stop?
Please, I’m begging you,
Just make it stop.
