#029 Monday Mourning

The sky cries with me as I mourn my past, teardrops drip drip dripping down my cheeks while I stand alone in the pouring rain, staring blankly at the headstone of the person I used to be. I had violently scratched my old name into its surface. The haunting screeches of my knife resonated in the thin air.

The old me does not deserve these tears but I empathize with her loved ones; some of them foolishly believe that she will return one day. But she won’t come back, I made sure of that.

After all, I buried the bitch.