There's a lighthouse inside of her. The way it keeps shining out light, to keep her from going astray. Sometimes, she shuts it off. The lights. The path of darkness hits her. And every now and then, she feels it. The love, the warmth, the pleasant of being there. In the stillness of no lights. She feels calm. But these haunting thoughts. Suicidal. Thoughts of not being to see the rays of sunlight shines through the curtains, the hope of fresh air, breaths of new life. But she wasn't getting enough of hope lately. Her mind speaks. Often, too much, too often. It speaks of words she could never possibly imagine. She, sometimes, could not comprehend. She keeps secrets. Too herself most of the times. Her intentions of hurting herself, in the showers, where thoughts, these free thoughts, keep agonizing her. In a way, she sometimes feel like the hurting is the only thing that keeps her alive at these moments. Telling her she should hurt herself but not letting her know exactly what is she doing. It's confusing. It's lethal. Well at least that's what she thought it does to her. She cuts herself open. She wants to feel the pain outside of her once. She wants it to settle herself down. To feel every single pain from inside, come out. To see the red liquid oozing, to free the devil inside of her.