(no subject)
She was able to turn herself into plastic whenever she wanted to. He would put his arms around her and all of a sudden she would get hard and slightly cold. A few seconds later she would turn back into flesh and everything would be alright. She liked being plastic better than being flesh. He would wake up in the morning and she would be sleeping plastic. If she sensed him looking at her she would turn to flesh in the blink of an eye. She never talked about it, nor did he. He was afraid that she would leave him. He thought that if he loved her she would remain in flesh. If he ever brought up subjects that were too intense, she would look away and her skin would take on a slight sheen as her pores dissapeared. Sometimes she would go between plastic and flesh with every breath as if she couldn't decide which she preferred. Nothing he did was enough. Too many beatings and abuse had scarred her forever. From his dark box he wonders where she is now. He wonders if there was anything he could have done differently to have made her stay with him. He knows that love has no great power in this world. The wrath of abuse and pain are far more decisive influences on the flesh. We will go to the lengths to deny and hide.
She is a living scar.
She is a living scar.