She writes with a little red pen, symbolizing her life. Blood, hate, pain. She stops, thinks, stares. She pulls out a big pink marker, and writes about her life. Full of love and happiness. And then she realizes...She pulls out a black marker. The one with which she used to draw stitches upon her skin. And writes about her love. There is no stopping the words from spilling onto the paper from her soul. Compassion, empathy, passion, desire, pining, loving, losing, wanting, needing, crying, wishing, hoping, and finally...Dying. She sees an old friend. One with which she used to spend much of her time. One who helped vent her rage and pain. She slides this friend across her wrist, and for once in her life...She is numb. She cannot feel. With tears in her eyes, she lies on the ground, silently. Silence. There is only silence. Nothing more. Nothing less. While inside, she is screaming. The reality is slowing, gradually. Everything disappears. Her pain, her love, her passion.
