Two friends. One sleepover.
Your friend gets up from the table, finished with breakfast. "I gotta pee, then we can go".
"Okay". You grin and wave them off. The bathroom door closes and your mind wanders. Happiness is never permanent; and you know it all too well. The urge floods you and its all you can think. Gingerly, you pick up the knife and run a finger down the metal-cool to the touch.
Desire drips from you and demons laugh in your ears. Eyes cast down, you brush the blade across your wrist, the touch of metal soothing you. More than anything you want to slice that soft skin... and watch the wine of your soul which was your blood, pour out of you. You think of it staining your skin crimson- a river of red. Temptation is all too clever.
The lock on the door clicks and you quietly discard the knife. Leaning against the counter casually, you brush the desire away. Your friend comes out, you meet her eyes with a painted smile. "You ready?"
Smiling back she nods. "Yeah."
The mask comes easy and you play the part even easier.
"Awesome."
YOU ARE READING
My Only Language is Words
Random"It played out so perfectly, so full, so wonderous... but then I woke up". ~~~~ "The blade of imagination is a force to be reckoned with"~~~~ Somewhat insignificant rambles~ Also called "poetry" I suppose
