Beautiful Atrocity

I love writing. Not because of the words or passion, although I like that too, but because of the manipulation. My words can be anything I want them to be. If I want to make something that most consider repulsive admirable, I can. If I want to distort beauty into treachery, I can. I have control for once in my life. I’m stable and secure. I’m home.

Beautiful drops fell to the floor, my own crimson rain. It even smelled like rain on the cool tile, sweet, newly fallen serenity. I felt no pain, I felt sensation. The silver blade was such a sight, glistening, silver on crimson, such a contrast of color. I was smiling, enjoying my peace, my sensation. I went out of my way to feel this moment, to know what is in my heart— literally.


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