I was incessantly looking at the scabs on my elbow when, all of a sudden, a few images of my recent past flashed in front of my eyes. The images were vivid; it felt like yesterday although it happened yesterday. I could smell those pictures; I saw blood on my elbow dripping onto a white cotton carpet sluggishly. I had punctured my elbow with my sister’s divider. She hated that thing, for she didn’t know how to use it. I counted the wounds; I had struck myself five times. Now the wounds were healing, and I felt like itching one. Impatiently, I scratched off one scab; the skin got ruptured, and a little drop of blood emerged from the wound. Just like the stained white cotton carpet, pages on my table are stained with my thoughts. Without an opening, I couldn’t have stained the white carpet, and it’d have remained white except being a comfortable place for dust and mites. Likewise, the scattered pages on my table need to be stained. Without a cut, I can’t stain those premium white pages t...
i am redhya. and this is the place where i spew out the havoc birthed by my triggered neurons in the form of words. you may or may not like my writings. however, i insist on you reading some of my works. besides that, you may leave any comments so that i can know my writings from your perspectives. s u r r e n d e r yourself before you read any posts; otherwise, these are merely some words taking their last breaths and it's impossible to resuscitate them now.