The sound of slamming doors fill my ears. Distant screams and shouts of hateful words linger in the air. I lay where I was forced to the ground covered in precious silver tears. Using only my hate and anger to keep me going. The pain burns inside, swallowing any part of myself I have left. My fingertips outline a clear, soft, edge that will allow every painful thought to seep out into the blissful darkness. At first I feel a different pain, a type of pain that should send me running to the farthest of corners but instead I welcome it/ The pain reaches a point where I open my mouth to cry out but not sound comes out, The warmth of the burning covers like a blanket made of bricks. Pressing on every nerve, breaking every bone so easily, crushing everything ever known. Then all of a sudden, the pain slowly exits. I feel it run along my skin as it makes its way into nothing. The only evidence, a small mark distorted by the skin. the only reminder of how much pain was shed. The only way one would know, is the sound of slamming doors.