I yelled out in agony as she drew the blade from my chest. I was a masterpiece, her clay sculptor.. And yet she threw me aside like I meant nothing...
When the stars long for clarification when isn't it given? I'll answer that, it is never given. Never. A sculptor becomes broken shards of dry clay.
Pity. She claimed a person was still a person until their inhumane actions were so grave they were a shell. A glass so used it became nothing. A rock, worn away by the sea.
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Poetry and Stories
Poetry!This book will contain! My vent poetry (Some SA, some depression based, some anxiety) Just normal poetry. Short stories !Nothing here will be incredibly happy! Please don't read it if you are easily triggered. I will put trigger warnings at the sta...
