Sienna lifted her fingers from the chipped ivory keys. She looked down at her shaking hands, bearing the burden of her secret's secrets. Her melodies, that had once been so gentle and pure, like the fresh snow, were now heavy and made the heart ache. In her small room of few objects and many walls, she swayed to the throb of her own song. Bubbling to the surface was years of realization, guilt, fear. The demons drifted out from her soul and wrapped around anything they came into contact with. Even her writings withered at her touch. There was not a single laugh nor careless giggle left inside her being. She had been hallowed out by the pain of many lifetimes.
Sienna's piano, her one last hope, melted away into another memory as the room faded into the foreground. She fell all the way through the back of the world, where no one would dare search for her. At this distance, she could still hear her sad lullabies weaving through a network of buzzing ideas.
The alone was eerily perfect. She forgot to hold back her tears and fears. They fumbled out of her mind in a mess, and from some other world she saw her figure collapse into a pitiful heap.
Life was in her hands, like the seed of a rose, which she could choose to nurse to a towering beauty that would only prick her to tears in the end. Or she should crush it into a dust, and let it rejoin the free-blowing wind.
Instead, Sienna idly let her hands drift along the sad notes, which so screamed for freedom of the boundaries of her mind. For eternity she was caged into this loop of events, this mindset. But if she only pleased, it would be too easy to let go and slip past where one can ever return...

Dear Agony,

I stared into the mirror. I looked away and rubbed my eyes. And looked back. I looked away and cried. And looked back. But the girl that I thought I had lost...was back. Her gaze froze me to the core of my bones. What had brought her back, one might wonder. Maybe it was the slow trickle of blood streaming down my leg. The agonizing pain, of which I now knew would only worsen throughout the years. Decades. My lifetime.
Maybe it was the sudden slap of reality. That my brother was going off to the marines, and I had no idea when I would see him again. But I could so clearly remember last time I saw him. I remember a man walking over to hug me. Dressed in black, as was the rest of the crowd. He told me it was okay to cry. And only after he had walked away, did I realize that that man was my brother.
Maybe it was the pain of the absence of my father. Who has now been but a small speck of my life for four months now. Who keeps calling every couple of weeks to drone on about how much he misses me. I know how this works. Guilt me into another visit. Just so he can sleep and leave me to my agony.
Maybe it's that I have no one but a once a week therapist to talk to. And besides her, my life stays bottled up deep inside me. And it's times like these, where the bottle bursts.
Times like these where the tight grip of the screaming music, which would be so peaceful any other day, had no aide to my collapsing soul. All I could do was shiver in the blow of an old window fan. If I were to turn it down, or worse, off completely, the fire that has been ignited from deep inside my gut, would flare up again. And I was in no mood to be bothered with a forest fire inside my stomach.
From another world, somewhere far away, just out of reach, I could smell burning wood. A soft smell drifting from the porch to my window. Caught in the blades of a fan, and thrust towards me. I had the urge to limp in it's direction. With a bag of marshmallows griped tight in my sweaty palms. Like old times. I pictured a little girl trotting through the house, bouncing with joy. I pictured my former self.
Then I was swiftly brought back to my world. Where I confined to the floor, writhing in pain. Wishing there was a magical button I could press to end this anguish swiftly, with ease, cleanly.
But like a friend, that was not so little as a friend in my mind, told me, wishes never come true.

Curse.

I looked at the sleek blade in my hand. Had I really dropped so low to this? To this criminal act? I wish I could turn back the clock. Back all the way. But it doesn't work like that. Never has, never will. So this is how I cope? Isn't there some other way? I sat there, in the middle of my carpet, staring at my hands. Staring at the sliver of silver. Begging. Laughing. At my agony. I started to put it down. Ever so gently, I wouldn't want to...wait...I have no idea why I'm being careful. But I might as well. Then, at the worse possible time, my arm jerked. Far away from my body. Sometimes I wondered how it was possible for such a move to be achieved in so little time. I screamed out, part in fear, and part is sheer vain. I plunged the sliver of blade into the arm that jerked. Maybe if I cut it up enough it'll all stop. Or something like that. I gathered up the courage to look down at my arm. I had decided to do this today. Without reason, I figured this would be easier than reality. And I was right. As I watched the blood dripping onto my other hand, just below, I couldn't help but smile. This was a whole new kind of pain. The pain that you can't get by falling off you bike, or cutting your finger from chopping peppers. No. this is such an intensely beautiful pain. I didn't dare put my weapon on my spotless carpet. I gathered myself and hurried to the bathroom. All the time staring at my arm. It didn't look like mine anymore. Unattached to this body. You lucky arm... I dropped the demon I was carrying in the sink and let the water flow over it. I never realized how much of a gorgeous color blood is. Mixed with water, spinning down a drain, like a piece of art. I put my arm in the water and let it soothe away the guilt. The pain, no I wanted that for myself. But the guilt, that I could happily live without. After the blood was gone, you could barely tell that the skin was broken. I grabbed a bandage out of the overhead cabinet. As I did so I caught a glimpse of my grinning face and couldn't help but grimace. How could I be so sick that this was the one thing that gave me joy? There was reality hitting me again. I grimaced. I slapped the bandage on with out a wrinkle in my stone face. I stood looking in the mirror until my arm jerked. I sighed and went back into my room. My little demon had done its job. Now it is my turn to let out the grief, guilt, pain. I sat down on my floor, in the same spot as before. I hummed a couple of lines to "Mama", then screamed. Cried. All of the above. Then everything was out. Now I just wait, for another low to come. Another phase of the curse.