Redid my profile.
Wrists that beg the razor's edge... I've met them before, in the silent halls, lit green to calm and with the sterile scent of insanity wafting on circulated air. Casts protecting veins slit lengthwise, the stitching closed off from light as her forearm thumped incessantly against her skull, her hate for life unsatiated by drug or doctor.
I've seen the nightmares of men walking in paper-thin gowns, their evil grins impish and profane. Walls padded not to protect to occupants but the confinement from the unearthly strength of the captive crazed.
This is where I come from... this is who I was. Does that change what you think of me?
Wrists that beg the razor's edge... I've met them before, in the silent halls, lit green to calm and with the sterile scent of insanity wafting on circulated air. Casts protecting veins slit lengthwise, the stitching closed off from light as her forearm thumped incessantly against her skull, her hate for life unsatiated by drug or doctor.
I've seen the nightmares of men walking in paper-thin gowns, their evil grins impish and profane. Walls padded not to protect to occupants but the confinement from the unearthly strength of the captive crazed.
This is where I come from... this is who I was. Does that change what you think of me?
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And in the end it is but one choice made that has any meaning. One choice that rings through the heavens and sets us free...