When I first started to remember the details of my life, it pained me. To remember the little five year old girl who's father was like a hero to her. To remember when writing was a passion and not something necessary to keep my sanity intact, pained me. Thinking back to those days made me realize how far I have fallen.
The bathroom floor is cold and drenched in red...
I have not given much thought to how I would die. When I was a child I saw a funeral on the television and thought about how my funeral would be. I imagined being old with wrinkles covering every part of my body but I would have a peaceful look, one that told others I was in a better place. My coffin would be jet black and my body and grave would be covered in different silks and roses. Everyone around me would be smiling and rejoicing the life that I had lived and not the fact that I was gone. I guess that's all changed now.
I am going to die alone, bleeding out on my bathroom floor filled with anything but happiness...
I feel it. I know that it is coming. My time is slipping away along with any future that I could have had and there is nothing that anyone can do about it. This is not the way I thought it would be.
Black everywhere... I can't see
Why did I do this?
"SIERRA!"
I'm so-
YOU ARE READING
The Flower
Non-FictionThe story of @fl0wersniffinwh0re and how she came to be one of the best writers I have seen in a very long time. Forget about life's road map... Follow your heart at any cost... For you'll never truly find yourself... If you're afraid to get lost...
