My fears rest inside my mind, wandering aimlessly waiting for me to break. Piece by piece, my existence is slowly crumbling, like broken glass. You can't fix broken glass. In all, you can't fix me, i've already died inside. The lingering fumes of paint torture me slowly, bringing back memories deep from years long ago. The fumes remind me of my mothers sweet laugh, her gentle personality. Oh how i miss those days, filled with laughter and silly smiles. I miss her stories, her constantly telling me how deeply she loves me, she created a mixture between humanity and fantasy. I loved how she... the sound of my fathers voice brings me away from my daydream. His screams alone make me feel defenseless. I quickly try to cover the fresh paint, not caring if i had messed up the picture. i needed to hide it, otherwise he'd do it again. i feel numb, i can't feel my father screaming in my ear, i can't feel him tugging at my hair. i can't... feel. i did however feel the darkness welcome my presence. The last i knew, i was on the floor, staring at my mothers painted, empty eyes.
- Violet Dreams
a book written by brooke bidondo.