Even In War There Should Be Lines

Underground. Which I Hate. Like Mines And Tunnels And 13. Underground, Where I Dread Dying, Which Is Stupid Because Even If I Die Aboveground, The Next Thing They'll Do Is Bury Me Underground Anyway.

I Sit Back On My Bed Cross-legged And Find Myself Rubbing The Smooth Iridescent Surface Of The Pearl Back And Forth Against My Lips. For Some Reason, It’s Soothing. A Cool Kiss

The Pain Over My Heart Returns, And From It I Imagine Tiny Fissures Spreading Out Into My Body. Through My Torso, Down My Arms And Legs, Over My Face, Leaving It Crisscrossed With Cracks. One Good Jolt...and I Could Shatter Into Strange Razor-sharp Shards.

Doors Are For Those Who Lack Enemies.

My Time In The Arena Made Me Realize How I Needed To Stop Punishing [my Mother] For Something She Couldn't Help, Specifically The Crushing Depression She Fell Into After My Father's Death. Because Sometimes Things Happen To People And They're Not Equipped To Deal With Them.