Story.

Listen to the silence.

They tell a story.

Story about you.

And, the people who left you.

Memories that haunt you.

In dark, cold-misty nights.

Nostalgia wraps its arms around you.

Sometimes comforting, sometimes suffocating.

You cry, you sigh.

You twist, you turn.
You smile, You laugh.
Then you remember,
There is a demon masked as an angel.
The one who groped your virgin skin,
Whose vile intentions,
Keeps killing you almost every night.

Reach for a razor, stick it to your skin.

Paint a new picture and

write the end of your story, your life.

P.S. That's not my hand.