When I was dying inside, feelings escaped silently through writing. The writing helped me to remember my life and lock away my feelings. My face forms a smile when I’m dead inside, I laugh when my heart fills with tears, as the cold breeze followed by the winter shine of the moon reflects through the glossy shield of a damaged, bloodstained window. The thoughts came rushing back tonight. The cold, chilling, winter feeling of her own skin made her lips curve, as she hugged herself slowly. Rocking back and forth she pleaded inside herself. ’’If I ever tell you my back story, know its never because I want you to feel sorry for me, but so you can understand the person I am.’’ She was tired. Physically and mentally. All she wanted to do was shut her eyes and hope she’d never have to open them again. But how could she when the lock and key refused to allow it. She knew very well who the lock and key was. No friends of hers, certainly not friendly, nor human, nor animal. But the demons she created.