How easily is one replaced in life...
Past the tips of are fingers and into the muddy light of reality I say "pretty easily".
The grease on your hands have left a print on my heart and I can't change that... So maybe you can just accept that as a fact... That we arent all permanent...
That are body is made of dead leaves and are hearts of melted ice..
People rack us away and pour us out...
Step on us when we are no longer dangling from the trees or frozen to the tips of their house....
We are not permanent in someones life... Yet we still wish to feel needed, to feel wanted...
Why is that?
About the Creator
Clara .
I enjoy writing, drawing, and reading. I'm looking forward to sharing all of my work with the people who will see it. c:
Tortured Soul
The soul careened blindly through a void where it scraped against the walls of a narrow tunnel, amassing a cumulative friction that created all the heat the devil would ever need to torment it. There was no light at the end, not even a fire. From the bottom a cold wind blew, and the clash of extremities spawned vapors of terror in the deadened and numbed appendage that was this strange, delirious, drunken consciousness.
By C. Rommial Butler5 days ago in Fiction
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