vera caine, district four | [fin./cb]

Storm girl --
you're lost within yourself; you're smothered by the rain, blinded by the waves, and there's too much water in your lungs to scream out over the howling thunder. A waterfall comes pouring from your lips, and you find that you are death. You are both the ghost ship and the hurricane that destroyed it.

' too much water in your lungs to scream '
-- you're a destruction girl, with a tsunami lodged in her throat. Is that why you choose to stay s i l e n t ?

( You wear the ocean like a veil, mourning yourself at your own funeral -- but if you are of the sea, why do you choose to let yourself drown? )

There's coral wrapped around your wrists, and you break your entirety on the shore with each rise and fall of your being -- and there's saltwater spilling out of your veins: and, oh, you're drowning the world; and you don't mean to

You don't dare speak, and you don't dare cry for help -- everything is dying around you, curling in on yourself to try and stop the slaughter, but instead you cause an earthquake to split the world in half.

You are not your sisters;
you are not lightning and anger, nor are you are the nothingness that comes after the end --
you are the apocalypse.

Destruction girl, storm girl, hurricane girl --
you place a hand over your mouth and you drag yourself beneath the surface, but no matter what you do, you can't save anyone from your mess of limbs and contradictions.

( No one is safe around you,
and maybe,
just maybe,
that's exactly why you let yourself drown. )