Fiction

Sometimes she can’t help it and she has to drop to her knees. Even with her palms pressed into her eyes, the visions come to her. Blood drops to the floor in rivers and she longs to go swimming.
She will be a bitch to feel justified in getting hit. She will do whatever it takes to feel as broken on the outside as she does on the inside. Sometimes only the fear for her life can snap her out of it. Sometimes she begs for it. Most of the time, she wishes she didn’t when it’s too late.
She knows it’s not right to instigate violence. She knows it’s not normal to crave it. She craves rage of others. She creates it. So far, in this life, she’s been lucky in picking the people that won’t cross that line. So far in this life, that fact frustrates her to no end. If only she could push someone that far. If only she wasn’t such a coward... There are a lot of ifs