heart.beats - razor blades.

it will never be fast enough. or loud enough. the ugliness shines within. the blades, piercing just below the bodily surface. approaching the girl's invisible knuckles - almost like her x-men superpower. you piss her off boy, and you just wait. the inner solace has been disturbed - and it's not anything that should ever be spoken or demonstrated.

the dreams haunt her. the lingering nightmares of the dark, curved stairwell. twisting and creaking into unknown territories. no real descriptors will serve the lairs justice - only that they exist, unseen, in another time and place. the immediate punch to the senses of endless dread and sadness. the knowing that whatever it is, doesn't permit survivors. it will plague him or her, for the rest of their being. like a leech in a swamp. it will suck you dry. the red velvet curtains that surround the guest room Jacuzzi are heavier than they appear. and if you dare attempt to toe in for a dip, the whirlpool will bubble like it should, water may be a tad more lukewarm than expected - but you will notice a change before you exit.

the night terrors will grip you. and only sometimes do they free you. which is why the girl embraces the blades beneath her skin. and doesn't tell a soul.