misery
Standing on the sun must feel like this. Smouldering hot, sweat beads torturing the flesh. She wanted sex, two burning bodies turning into a flame, shared pain. The pain might be good, and sharp, transcending from hell to the edge of heaven. Instead she sits alone in a chair with a twisted spine; the discomfort of attemping simple things as sitting straight bittered her heart. Her common brown eye's and hair contrasted her unique face, as if she had been painted by a man that knew her soul well. It was delicate and pale, with a nose that belonged to a fragile doll. The air in the room smelled of misfortune, it shifted patterns of grief, abuse, and a little regret. "The mind goes deeper than this", she thought to herself, as if desperately seeking a safe escape. It's not that she couldn't have simply walked out of the room, because she could have. The pain followed her and left no trail, it stuck to her like an unwanted visitor, clinging like a leering ghost who is always hungry, and never sated.