crimson red leaks from the lips of a tired artist.
she picks at her nails. she has no nails. has she bitten them all off already?
she reads the rubric. this is the fifth time she has read it. the words are becoming jumbled. Analysis. Analysis. Analysis. Analysis. is that even a word anymore?
her phone vibrates. it's a weather notification. was it five minutes or five years since they last spoke?
red drips down her skin. it's fine. it's always fine.
her fingers are cold as she writes. she doesn't know what she's writing. the words on the screen are in another language. her mind is blank.
time passes differently in her room. how long ago did she send that text - a month ago, or a minute ago?
she can never remember. she laughs nervously. "I forgot about that." did that ever exist?
her eyes are red. they used to be green. they hurt.
she stares at the closet. something moves in the shadows. she smiles.
searing pain shoots through her hand upon touching a hot bowl. she laughs. that was the first time she's felt alive in weeks.
it's always cold. she can't feel her skin. is it even hers? it doesn't feel like it.
her gut churns. tears well in her eyes. she feels so numb. it's been too long.
"this pain has to stop at some point."
she's so tired.
