2003-08-21 @ 9:33 p.m.
...and there were scrapes, raw and red with blood. Pink flesh showing up beneath a too-small band-aid. Pink and red. She looked so pretty.
Arms crossed in front of her, showing off the bruises tainted on each. She was proud of them. Battle scars, she called them. A battle with the world. A battle with herself.
...and her nails dug deep into her shoulders. Digging, clawing, scratching. Scratching the surface to find something better. Clawing the skin that shrouded the flower. Digging to find gold. I want to be gold.
She touched her face with her pale fingers, and thought of what would happen if she could scrape this, too. Scratch this, too.
...and she wanted happiness, but couldn't let herself have it. She wouldn't let herself have it.
So what if I'm not pretty...
...and she held her breath long enough that day.
She held her breath just enough that day.
Pink, red, and gold. She was pretty.
____________Listening to: "Two-Headed Boy" by Neutral Milk Hotel
everything © Claudia (2003-2008)