Emotions and Sensations

She crept away into a dark corner, laughter falling from her lips thick as honey and as false as refined sugar, her nails nowhere to be seen for they were digging into her hated skin. Music played in her head, forcing a smile to tug at the corners of her lips, still laughing a song of melodious irony. Another hook buried itself in her spine, forcing her to curve inhumanly before dragging her writhing body into the core of the shadows. And she cries, the blackest tears rolling from the outside corners of her eyes to oblivion. These tears were birthed not from pain, not sadness, not misery, not anger, nor anguish. Rather, the ink was the love child of only hate. Hate that festered in her for no other reason than to grow to kill. Killing her empathy, tears that formed in her stung when she hold them, gritting her teeth and digging her nails into her palms or whatever part of her body that wasn't already bleeding, reopening scars and tearing into old wounds, starved for the feeling of pain, her addiction that drove her so. Keeping her awake and pushing over the edge, holding her head under the water. The bubbles go higher and higher, becoming fewer and fewer, and relief sets in. Death at last. But Death laughs, spitting in her face for not even he could tolerate such a face or want such a soul. A soul too bad to be pure and too good to be defiled. A conundrum made from indecisiveness and sloth, a sin who knew her all too well along with many others. She knew all of them. She slept with each one at the foot of her bed, chained to the floor, fighting to leave but no, she was too lonely, too scared to face the world alone, to try to live a life worth living. So she never tried more than what she knew, what she was frightened of. A terrible life and fate to have.