My hands seem to be unclean, no matter how hard I try to scrub the blood off. It’s more like cement, fused into my skin even though it should be inside of me instead. There’s a lingering guilt that plagues me, even when I try to look away and not notice it… It’s always there. […]
I’m a shadow in the dark, trying to put it back together, as I watch it fall apart. Nothing Makes Sense Anymore – Mike Shinoda / Post Traumatic I stood in the pitch black darkness. I was staring into the pacific ocean, on the Salt Creek beach in Dana Point, where I (mostly) grew up. […]
amy sumisu 