Some days everything is like pieces of glass, shattered and bruised. Tainted. Other days, I am getting by. You wouldn't notice. I'd ton think anyone does, to be honest. If you met me in the stone cold flesh, you'd skip a heartbeat, not out of the non existent beauty but becuase of the mess I am. 

I am a girl, making her way through the bats and balls thrown at her. Making her way through slavery and abuse. Making her way through, well, life. With a book and a pen to aid her in her journey. Yet, there's that feeling. The agonising tug in her stomach. Pulling herself away, disconnecting herself from reality. Hiding herself with nothing but a mask to hide her feelings; becuase it is easier to disconnect than to open up. Than to ask for help. Help - I don't want it.

However, this broken mess has a slender, insecure string of hope, will you be the one to let it snap?

So welcome to the life of a broken mess; to the life of a mad girl; to the life of, you guessed it, me.