Laying in the dark surrounded by pillows and her own demons.

The abstract beauty of night drowned out by her own pathetic offbeat heart.

Afraid to speak.

She hides in a mist of false truths and forgotten dreams.

Threading the needle her subconscious viciously sews her mouth shut;

An urge rises within her, a pen is all she finds.

Vigorously grasping the pen as if her life depended on it, she plunges it deep into her throat.

Allowing the words to rush out of the wound,

In the midst of blood and ink she... finds herself.