/unedited/
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It's late, Delilah is crying.
It's late, Delilah is dying.
Delilah stared at the loose page in her journal. She scrunched up her face in agony, and roughly crossed out the words which stained the page.
She groaned in frustration, as her pen stayed still in her hand. Her hand grabbed out throwing the pen across the room and then tearing the page from its binding.
Delilah threw her head back and leaned into her pillows which were they were lined up carefully.
Her arms stretched out as she yawned. It was almost 4am and she hadn't gotten a wink of sleep.
Her sleep were filled with nightmares. They were dark and eerie where all her imperfection standed out. It was where everyone would tell her she wasn't good enough.
Delilah had shadows looming over her eyes showing the lack of sleep she had gotten. The poor girl was a falling mess with a smile plastered on her face.
Delilah reached out to her sleeve and pulled it down. Her arm was covered in scars, caused by her insanity.
Delilah slowly got up and gently let her feet graze the ground. She forced herself up and started walk to the washroom door.
As she walked she heard the heavy breaths of her family. She quickly tiptoed in the washroom and shut the door behind her.
She opened the cupboard to her bag with lady supplies. At the bottom was something very dangerous which could cost Delilah her life.
She was doing her actions as if it was a daily routine.
Delilah grabbed the knife and swished it a few times across her arms.
She finally found something she hadn't all day.
Relief.
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Perfect by the book #Wattys2015
Poetry[WATTYS 2015] Perfect. Our human nature goal. It's our want. It's our need. We want the perfect appearance, the perfect family, the perfect career, the perfect husband or wife, everything has to be perfect. But what exactly is perfect? ...
