She sits there for hours, back against the wall. so withdrawn. her head against the sink and her feet against the porcelain of that controlling needy friend. Her mind is like a colorful fruit basket but no one can see its hues because she locks herself away. her soul has been abused and she feels that she's no use and thinks her thoughts wreak of rotten fruit.

She lays with him sometimes and asks him, "what do I have to do... to live in you... to be like you." but no matter what he says she just likes to lay in bed and writhe in her pain and mope in disdain. She would kill herself if it meant there would be a life to regain, but there's no surprise she knows that she can no longer hide her soul, so cold, as it shivers and shakes its been raped and her abuse can no longer hide in her.

The cold porcelain beckons her. Her tummy made of rubber shudders. Her gums are rotten and all logic goes forgotten. She cries more often than not these days and she prays for something to relieve all this pain so she can tame all the fire in her burden of belly in her veins. Her rainbow brain. All she craves is a release, an opium-atic cure. And so she leans forward because old habits die hard.

She Purges.

Oh what a relief! He can no longer live in me! He can no longer hide and take me and rape me, I finally am free! She feels glee. She feels peace. She feels what even he cannot give her. Her eyes are red. All of the blood has now gone to her head, or maybe she's just drunk on her own self-loathe her hate can no longer sustain her. She longs with her heart just to be her own savior.