Broken Poetry

No Title

Blood rained from the skies, turning the green leaves of the forest into a dark crimson red as I danced in my blood freckled dress. The voices in my head laughing, screaming and thrashing against the walls of my mind as I danced along the roots of the trees, through red rivers, and further away from home with each step. The cuts that ran along my legs and arms burned with beauty as droplets of the red rain tainted my dark skin. Tainted my mind. Tainted my soul.

With each spin, the feeling of freedom grew. With each leap, the feeling of courage ignited. With each note that left my mouth, I felt more and more of my old self rushing back into my body, struggling to take over the darkness within.

The voices that were once an annoyance, the cuts that were once an embarrassment were all beautiful in my newly made eyes, and my newly made mind.

The floor was now the sea of blood, the thick liquid reaching my knees making it harder for me to spin, harder for me to leap, harder for me to be free, harder for me to exist in this world full of madness that consumes my soul.