This is for a stream of consciousness I had to write for Enlish as well. I had to use the same topic as my narritive. There is no title to this. There isn't supposed to be.
He brings me red roses. Soft, sweet, sinister roses. Not of love. Never of love. He’s a glorious character. So silver and shiny in the light. Blade to my heart. My liberator. My sanctuary. Nobody comprehends our relationship and nobody ever will. He tears open my skin and lets my troubles flow away in rivers with no ocean to flow to. I am the body. He brings life to me when I feel I have lost it. Like a gardener, he plants life into my body. I love him.
Alone tonight I hold him to my flesh. Seeping glory through my wounds. A battle I’ve not won nor lost. I am still alive. He keeps me living. Sane too. Nobody probably thinks it is a sane act, but it is, I insist. And if not to others, to me. It’s my sanity. My flesh is my tablet, my journal or diary. The blade writes on it every time I feel like giving in. Tells another story. Each scar stands for the pain I feel deep inside. Stands for the torment I’ve endured in my years of living. I write on my own Tabula Rosa. My skin is my once blank slate that I was born with. Born into a world pure, only to be corrupted. How I long for the days of innocence that I cannot even remember very well. Days before I began to tear into my flesh with passion, with need. A need to free myself from emotion.
Every time I do it I prevent my own breakdown. Then I have to hide the evidence. It’s not dirty, but it may disturb or disgust others if they see the marks. The red. It’s the red that makes me feel alive. To bleed is to live. I know I exist, am not a dream. I feel. It’s a way to prevent my tears from flowing over my eyes. A way to hide everything that I feel. Nobody is supposed to read your journal. Nobody will read my journal. Don’t ask questions if you don’t want to be lied to. I’m not going to tell the truth about where they came from. The jagger bush is always effective. The cat even more. Why would somebody attack their own body with razors and pins?
So I sit in my room, ready to relax myself. Screams echo in my head. It’s like a cave. The echoes bounce off of the walls. My cave isn’t empty. It is filled with pain and torment. Words. Dirty words and dirty deeds. I’ll drown if I don’t let the roses breathe. My door is locked. The outside world is not allowed in here. It is evil. Evil. Evil . . . Bad. He kisses me vehemently. A vampire. My arm seeps life. I smile to myself, in my head. Liberated . . . Liberation. I am alive.
I recieved a 97% on this paper. 
