The words continued to flow,

Written in the salt left behind,

in the streams down my cheeks,

It was rain on a window.

Anxiety whispers sweet nothings in my ears.

Goosebumps flow down my skin.

The room turns black as life seems to drain.

Paralyzed my limbs seem to be, like a puppet with the master away.

The strings lying on the ground.

Crimson takes the place of the darkness on the floor.

Where skin once lay, now is gashed open. Black and purple;

spots on my skin,

The words continue to come.

Written on the walls and floor, they march to cut me. 

Like soldiers sent by the devil himself;

which in a way they were. 

 If only the people would stop causing pain. 

"Just stop talking," I think.

Then this would all stop.