Chapter Seven
Shadows twisted around Samantha as she slashed, slashed, slashed her arm open. Mini rubies appeared on topo, início of her near white pale skin. Slash, slash, slash. Again and again. Misty murky gloom settled in around her bones, and remaining there to turn her cold as ice. Freezing her to the core. coração pounding, she thought of her father and was reminded of the way she hated how sounded, the way his footsteps, resounded through the house, making her agitated just por his sheer presence. Even he didn’t amor her and she was his daughter. What kind of fucker doesn’t even amor his own daughter?
Arm stinging, red lines running down her arms, crimson tracks up her thighs (like moto de neve, snowmobile tracks in the snow), but she feel a thing. She never did. It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt, she told herself. Everytime she started to think it was painful, she thought of her dad, Melissa, herself, and all the different ways she’d been screwed over, and magically instead of pain she felt joy. Only the strongest of people could hurt themselves. Anyone could hurt another person, but nobody wants pain inflicted on themselves. Samantha had marks of power all over, tatooing her entire body in an endless ocean of scars and new cuts. Wonderful.
Who knew slipping into insanity was this easy, this blissful and indulgent? Everyday, Samantha grew gradually mais obsessive, mais locked inside her own head. A perfect flawless paradise that no one else could enter. no one else could invade. It was a blank canvas all her own to paint whatever picture she pleased, and that picture was of thin, thin, thin. In her paradise, it was all her own. She awoke to a searing, immediate despair, so lustful she was magnetized to it. A vortex she got sucked into. An invisible vortex no one could see but her. Seducing her, she fell deeper into her own grave everyday. And pretended everything was fine.
Yes, indeed, she still got dressed, went to school, talked to Savannah, and went about her daily life. Now a crazy person couldn’t do that, right? Do crazy people know they’re crazy? What does it feel like? And to believe Samantha had once, just a short while ago, been yearning for normal? No, no, normal was something she could never achieve, especially now, when she was in so deep. She was immortal, almost. No food, no sleep. Heck, she probably didn’t even need air. Amazing. She was flying, gliding across water, unstoppable. Until, all of a sudden, she wasn’t. An omnipotent, all consuming low invaded her, creeping into even her darkest crevices. She wasn’t supergirl anymore, the adrenaline wore off, and she was the same, pathetic Samantha she’d always been. These were the times she was so crestfallen and hopeless, she couldn’t move. After all the high, there was the inevitable low. It took a while to pass, and Samantha added it to her mental to-do list, find a way to avoid low. Growing longer each day, the list was filled with all sorts of tasks, ranging from change clothes and brush teeth to do homework and finish portrait for studio. Unsurprisingly, the latter usually got done first, if any were to be completed at all.
Though the lows were sucky, the vortex gave Samantha an eerie sense of purpose and perspective in the world. Brainpower increasing dramatically, she was as different as you could get from who she was in Graysville, except for a few key personality traits. And a few key people she thought about. One of them, remarkably unique, was Melissa Jackson. Her suicide still haunted her. Why? She had been one of the ones poised to get out, and whenever Samantha thought about it she felt guilty. Instead of Melissa, she’d gotten a better life, when Melissa no longer was alive. Also, Samantha had gotten something about it. Like she could have stopped her or something. What with seeing her that night, and the weird stuff about the trains? But, really, how was she supposed to know? Wasn’t it Melissa’s fault anyways? It’s not like Samantha pushed her in front of that train.
Shadows twisted around Samantha as she slashed, slashed, slashed her arm open. Mini rubies appeared on topo, início of her near white pale skin. Slash, slash, slash. Again and again. Misty murky gloom settled in around her bones, and remaining there to turn her cold as ice. Freezing her to the core. coração pounding, she thought of her father and was reminded of the way she hated how sounded, the way his footsteps, resounded through the house, making her agitated just por his sheer presence. Even he didn’t amor her and she was his daughter. What kind of fucker doesn’t even amor his own daughter?
Arm stinging, red lines running down her arms, crimson tracks up her thighs (like moto de neve, snowmobile tracks in the snow), but she feel a thing. She never did. It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt, she told herself. Everytime she started to think it was painful, she thought of her dad, Melissa, herself, and all the different ways she’d been screwed over, and magically instead of pain she felt joy. Only the strongest of people could hurt themselves. Anyone could hurt another person, but nobody wants pain inflicted on themselves. Samantha had marks of power all over, tatooing her entire body in an endless ocean of scars and new cuts. Wonderful.
Who knew slipping into insanity was this easy, this blissful and indulgent? Everyday, Samantha grew gradually mais obsessive, mais locked inside her own head. A perfect flawless paradise that no one else could enter. no one else could invade. It was a blank canvas all her own to paint whatever picture she pleased, and that picture was of thin, thin, thin. In her paradise, it was all her own. She awoke to a searing, immediate despair, so lustful she was magnetized to it. A vortex she got sucked into. An invisible vortex no one could see but her. Seducing her, she fell deeper into her own grave everyday. And pretended everything was fine.
Yes, indeed, she still got dressed, went to school, talked to Savannah, and went about her daily life. Now a crazy person couldn’t do that, right? Do crazy people know they’re crazy? What does it feel like? And to believe Samantha had once, just a short while ago, been yearning for normal? No, no, normal was something she could never achieve, especially now, when she was in so deep. She was immortal, almost. No food, no sleep. Heck, she probably didn’t even need air. Amazing. She was flying, gliding across water, unstoppable. Until, all of a sudden, she wasn’t. An omnipotent, all consuming low invaded her, creeping into even her darkest crevices. She wasn’t supergirl anymore, the adrenaline wore off, and she was the same, pathetic Samantha she’d always been. These were the times she was so crestfallen and hopeless, she couldn’t move. After all the high, there was the inevitable low. It took a while to pass, and Samantha added it to her mental to-do list, find a way to avoid low. Growing longer each day, the list was filled with all sorts of tasks, ranging from change clothes and brush teeth to do homework and finish portrait for studio. Unsurprisingly, the latter usually got done first, if any were to be completed at all.
Though the lows were sucky, the vortex gave Samantha an eerie sense of purpose and perspective in the world. Brainpower increasing dramatically, she was as different as you could get from who she was in Graysville, except for a few key personality traits. And a few key people she thought about. One of them, remarkably unique, was Melissa Jackson. Her suicide still haunted her. Why? She had been one of the ones poised to get out, and whenever Samantha thought about it she felt guilty. Instead of Melissa, she’d gotten a better life, when Melissa no longer was alive. Also, Samantha had gotten something about it. Like she could have stopped her or something. What with seeing her that night, and the weird stuff about the trains? But, really, how was she supposed to know? Wasn’t it Melissa’s fault anyways? It’s not like Samantha pushed her in front of that train.
A child huddles in a corner,
dirty and tired and alone.
He's too skinny, too tired, too pale.
But nobody notices.
His coração breaks
as he watches the blurry-shaped people
walk past,
without glancing at him.
Screams echo off the cold walls surrounding him.
Not just his;
There's a few voices in that howl.
But they fall on deaf ears.
Hours pass. Days pass. People pass.
Still, nobody glances his way.
Darkness begins to creep in,
Bringing two anjos with tear stained faces and heavy wings.
Silence has brought this,
and por the time people notice
it's too late.
The three anjos have already left.
dirty and tired and alone.
He's too skinny, too tired, too pale.
But nobody notices.
His coração breaks
as he watches the blurry-shaped people
walk past,
without glancing at him.
Screams echo off the cold walls surrounding him.
Not just his;
There's a few voices in that howl.
But they fall on deaf ears.
Hours pass. Days pass. People pass.
Still, nobody glances his way.
Darkness begins to creep in,
Bringing two anjos with tear stained faces and heavy wings.
Silence has brought this,
and por the time people notice
it's too late.
The three anjos have already left.
Isabella
you don’t live this life,
you’re becoming a shadow
of your destiny.
This cruel fate hates
your laughter,
loving your pain that
sleeps inside your
broken heart.
Broken and tired
of all these lost fights,
your life becomes
invisible
and you don’t care anymore,
but you do,
you still do.
You’re trying to see
through this fog,
you’re still fighting
for that day,
the dia of your peace.
Your path is full of
thorns that are stabbing you
directly into your hope,
tearing your soul apart,
you’re on the wings of powerlessness.
hear my
unspeakable words,
those are screaming
inside my lost strife!
See me,
see it through my
frightened eyes,
those will show you,
those will defeat
the peace itself.
That peace,
well-known to you,
but not to me.
Not to me.
I've seen it only
in their eyes,
while mine were dreaming.
Grabbing my soul,
living inside,
the fear loves me more,
smiling to my faith.
Hear me,
hear those
unspeakable words,
those are living here,
praying silently,
crying sternly.
Hope is awaken,
but weakened.
Hating fear
and its cruelty,
it struggles tirelessly,
though fading...
Fading
along with
unseen dreams,
sleeping
along with sorrow.
The doors
are locked,
Sun is not
illuminating
my path,
not mine.
Fears sleep
in there,
loving my failures,
listening to my
unspeakable words,
those are prayers,
unseen dreams,
fear lives within.
Preface
(tell me what you think)
At some point in our life there’s a time when life seems like a field of flores in the spring about to bloom in the Garden of Eden or like a summers dia that never ends, all warm and bright. My life was like that when I was younger and had nothing to worry about. All the woes in my house were my parents that had cast dark shadows over them long before any of my siblings were born. So when I used to dream of being a small child in the Garden of Eden it was at time of happiness and peace in our house. Our house, our small white house on the edge of the rua that didn’t stick out, oh how I wished it would stick out with blooming gardens like the ones in my dreams. There was a time when life was the way it is now for me there’s a time like this in every child’s life but your have to fight hard to keep it as an adult.
(tell me what you think)
At some point in our life there’s a time when life seems like a field of flores in the spring about to bloom in the Garden of Eden or like a summers dia that never ends, all warm and bright. My life was like that when I was younger and had nothing to worry about. All the woes in my house were my parents that had cast dark shadows over them long before any of my siblings were born. So when I used to dream of being a small child in the Garden of Eden it was at time of happiness and peace in our house. Our house, our small white house on the edge of the rua that didn’t stick out, oh how I wished it would stick out with blooming gardens like the ones in my dreams. There was a time when life was the way it is now for me there’s a time like this in every child’s life but your have to fight hard to keep it as an adult.
