Addictions

Walking down the simple pathways
leading echoes home to the
throat they came from
she realizes this is not
living.
The breeze, heavy with Spring's gentle scent
caresses her back
making her gasp in frustration,
wishing for the piercing bite of
pointed ivory icicles to grace her bare shoulders.
The soft cotton wisps blow through the air,
glancing slowly across her chest
catching her eyelids closed,
her lips sneering in a pained and menacing way,
wishing each tiny, feather-like bobble would strike her harshly,
pulling away her skin and
gripping tightly
sharply
to her flesh.
Her skin crawls with imaginary spiders
and itches with anger
and terror
as she pulls hair from her head
one strand at a time.
It hurts more to stay safe than it does to
give up
give in.

She wanders down the road
with winding pathways
treading the delicate line between
insane,
sorry,
and

fine.