She Struggles with a war cry of frustration. She wants to forget dark smoky nights filled with violence, tears falling from swollen eyes, life pulsing with adrenaline filled veins fueled by anger and fear. She wants to remember it how it should have been. In the mirror stares reality. Raw agony rips open her soul at just one glimpse of her yesterdays. It molded her, grew through her, into her, inside her. She is the lonely nights infested with suicide thoughts and day dreams of far away places void of this state of being. It is so much a part of her cutting of her own arm would be easier to remove. She is this, this is her, She is me.
