Revisiting the Mind's Shadows

The Bold One no longer has a voice. Her lips have been sewn together and still, she communicates her darkness into my soul. She lives on through my morbid fantasies and strikes as night falls over reality. Her dominance over my thinking has become limited yet not abolished.
I often fantasize of chopping off my right hand. I often press my first two fingers under my chin and draw my thumb toward them. I immediately think of Caleb after this action. I shake it off and continue on with my day as if nothing had ever interrupted my thoughts. Sometimes, I pause to think, "Is this what he felt?"
So when at night, I stare at the moon, both, in my meadow and in reality, my thoughts are clean. I may glance down at the pearl designs etched into my wrist. I think of the disappointment written on her face as I looked up from my homework. Her eyes shifted from the blisters and onto me while I tucked my arm under the table. I still see her face and feel the odd relief.
I no longer feel the urge for the heat. I once read that self injury was ones' way to put the pain where it can be seen. I saw it as a way release it via the bubbles of clear fluid.
But its the Bold One who can not speak; not I.
To quote a beautiful cancer survivor, "This is temporary."