Disclaimer:I don't own the Teen Titans

Claimer:But I do own the song/poem

Chapter 1: Crimson Lines Upon the Sand

No more anger, no more pain…

She just sat there, left eye slightly twitching, the moon her main focus.

Wash over me all the shame…

All of what happened today was just a dream, wasn't it? Nothing to feel for, nothing to care about.

All the shame that I'd felt before…

But it haunted her mind, repeating over and over again. She shouldn't care; it'll only cause more trouble. It wasn't in her place to feel. Not now. Not because of that.

And soon you'll see me at the shore…

But what's this? A shining something in her hand, coming slowly towards her naked arm.

Gleaming red and gleaming black…

Stop it now! It's not worth it, no more of this, no more of it. Drop it now, drop it fast. Listen to me! Listen to me!

Then it will disappear before my eyes…

White and red, the color of your tattoos, you wear them not with pride, and yet you pursue the artist, begging for more.

The heat of the sun will bring me down…

It fascinates you; it makes your eyes go wide, awe in your heart. It causes no pain, because all the pain they caused you was much much worse than this.
Unto my knees in deep submission…

Yes, bow down deep, serve the dagger that dares to claim your blood, dares to drink your soul from you.
And there it is, there it is…

Indeed, you see it now, red rivulets causing a waterfall, over the flesh and down to satin sheets dyed deep blue. Are you smiling? Are you laughing? Does it cause you so much joy to die so slowly every time?
Crimson lines upon the sand…

And there she was, the dizziness brought her to her knees, before the white ceramic bowl, emptying a day's worth of digested victuals into the pale blue water. Over and over again, she choked it up, no pain in her eyes, no sorrow in her face, indifference was her best friend, and blood her comfort. Beside the toilet a sink, the plug was plugged, the faucet running, steam rising above the water. Oh but the water? As though someone had painted it, crimson drops seeped about the small waves and ripples, conquering the clear masses, and soon it would be a land of red, then later, of deep red. She was not finished with the torture of her wrists yet. Not just yet.