It seems that I always feel the most during the night.

"Lonely little girl..." She liked to taunt me. I glared,

"If you don't shut your damn mouth, I'll..."

She smirked, "You'll what?"

'Kill you. I'll fucking kill you, you goddamned brat.'

I couldn't say it. I sighed and turned away. It would've been an empty threat.

She giggled, "You'd never be able to do anything to me,"

I felt the cold blade of her favourite knife lightly run down my spine.

"Not even if I was trying to kill you."

I couldn't reply, I didn't know what to say anyway. But it still irritated me because I knew what she said was true, all she ever speaks is the truth anyway. My truths.

"Lonely little soul,
let me see you cry.
I'll make you feel whole,
so I can tear you out,
watch you die."

I felt the hot tears welling up. My blood was boiling but my hands were cold. I felt her sharp nails in my scalp and I knew, in a way, it was supposed to be comforting.

I was too tired to push her away so I burrowed deeper into my bloodstained blankets and let her tear my skin in her sick concept of comfort.