(( A fairly long poem that I wrote for my character.
Not an IC thing. I've had some terrible writer's block.
Just thought I'd share. ))

When she closed her eyes
the world around her didn't put itself on pause.
Several faces came to gather around her, listening
to every whimper and every sob,
cracking her walls just enough
to reach their hands inside.

One hand in particular,
she knew that it belonged to him.
She knew from the quake of his knuckles,
and the cold clamminess of his palm.

He whispered as she was divided,
"Let's keep our flowers." Oh-so softly.

His hand released her,
she could feel the warm, wet reminder of tears
pitter-pattering against her thighs.
And then she was falling, his face distorted
by the distance. She drifted into the the night.
Warm, muggy, the smell of the ocean
uncomfortably familiar.

She was alone.

Yet she could feel him there inside her.
The feeling was comforting and nostalgic,
like her watery tomb. But his presence terrified her.
She knew he was there, watching her from above.
A glint of light at the ocean's surface. Waiting.

She would find herself punishing others,
giving them small pieces of herself, her own suffering,
as mementos. Things she felt were necessary.
The things that made their pain significant.

Every person she tried to fix only ended up more fractured.
She would lead them to him, watching as he reached out
and drained them of their spirits. Their essence consumed,
and nothing seemed to remain.

She often fantasized what it was like to feel
his fingers under her skin, penetrating and draining
her into one of those empty husks.

Eventually, time stopped for a while.

After the ripples in the water smoothed out
everyone had quickly moved on.

Once again, she felt alone. And she only had herself to blame.
If she had held on when someone showed interest,
maybe she wouldn't have had to 'fix' so many of them.

Maybe she wouldn't have shown so many people the
things inside herself, so many things,
that she grew to hate.

And maybe she would never change.

So she closed her eyes,

forcing away every kind hand that had been offered to her.

And she drifted back to the cruel world
that she never asked to be a part of.

She could feel the surface near, and he was there.
Her eyes opened, searching for the familiar lines,
the creases, the colors, the contours of his frame.
She couldn't breathe. He was coming for her.
And there was nothing she could do.

As the sky dimmed,
she could feel his touch, the warmth of the sun
fading off her shoulders.

As his arms slid around her, he pressed his cheek to hers;

"Let's kill our flowers."