Sometimes when I get cold, the scar tissues on my arms throb. They turn corpse white and shine in the light, like pretty lines of pure silver. My fingertips go numb and cold, then colors start to go gray. Like an autumn scene under the darken clouds. My wrists had begun to tingle, and my pretty lines of silver heat at the memory. An itch in the back of my head forms and a little voice whispers to me. It tells me what I know. It tells me how to stop the building need.
I close my eyes and in the darkness a dim light begins to grow. It stretches and bends soon a familiar silhouette that I long to touch is slowly making its way to me. I'm breathless and once you're in front of me I can no longer bare it. I try to reach out and touch you, and then I take a breath. My eyes open with a snap, and I wish you were here.
The voice gets louder the longer I wait. I resist the itch and soon my whole hand goes cold and numb, and all the blue veins are becoming visible. The voice is so loud it makes me shake; it gets higher and higher till it rings in my ears. The pressure of the inner conflict grips my insides. My stomach feels like it's turning and rolling. My arms pale and my scars burn even more than before. My body feels like I'm sinking down and before I know it, I'm on the ground. My arms feel so cold it hurts, and the pretty lines of silver feel like they're melting into my bones. I lay withering in pain as my body and mind fight. The battles vary in duration and once they are done the voice tells me. "You can make it all go away. It's always been up to you."