11:45 p.m. - 2007-09-17
Hidden
I hide beneath tattered flesh, the cuts begin to mend, and I fall bakwards, into rest. Not forgotten just hidden, in the back of the mind. I lay waiting the return of razors and knives to peer out, to lash out, to shout out, to put down. It's a repeating cycle; The skin bleeds, and I perceieve things in a darker matter. I am my own redeemer, but each time I begin to hurt myself, harsher than before. Can I survive another round?

Hidden, beneath flesh, keeping to myelf my true name, the one you can't even say.