She has so much to say, but no way to let it out intelligibly. There are many thoughts buzzing around her tired skull, fluttering around like fireflies. Lighting up to make her remember, just to fade away. She needs her creativity back. When there is no where to go, nothing to do, a way to release. Self-destruction is inevitable. Be it a slow, winding deterioration, or shower of knives, one day she will fall. If only she can find that escape. To slip away where only she will be. And be she will. escape..