She sits in her room, the music blaring. As she sits letting her mind float into the hard beats of the drum, the soft angelic voice of the singer, and the soft strum of the guitar, she imagines all the people that put these thoughts in her head…

For 3 whole years she would hide in the hallways of the place that she considered a prison, not a place to learn. They would call her names that she would never think about. She would sit in her room and imagine blood rolling down her arms into dark maroon pools on her sheets. She pictured these people with blood rolling from every point on their body that could bleed.

What they didn't and never would know is the talents she had. Her poetry was like a look into her shadowed soul, her drawings were dark, but beautiful, and her voice was like snow falling on a cold winter day.

Every moment she breathed, she regretted it. She never wanted to see those faces again and never wanted to see her own face again ether. She wished that she never had put on that first drop of eyeliner, so then she would never be considered a freak, an outcast, an alien.

As she sit there imagining the countless nights she cried herself to sleep, the memory faded to her future. She imagined herself sitting on stage singing a song, that even the first word would grab your attention and make you feel how she felt everyday of her life…
She was brought back to the deep endless pool of sorrow that is the present. She looked around and realized that she was in her own personal h*ll again.

She turned off her light, turned up her music, and flouted into the deep shadows of her mind…