Plaster
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MatureOngoing<5 mins
Last published Wed, May 10, 2017
The walls are made of plaster, the floors are made of wood, my heart is made of glass, and my soul is made of screams.
I've been here so long I don't know who I am any longer, I can't remember what hour it is, or what day, or even what year. I haven't seen the sun since I was put here, I haven't talked to another person, or done anything besides slowly go crazy.
When will I ever leave?
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