Wednesday, December 17, 2014


The winds blow over the frozen wastelands. There is nothing but ruin for miles. The destruction runs deep into the ground showing the sky its layers that were never supposed to be seen. The redness of this heart is fresh, but all this destruction that It was dealt was all my doing. I wore my heart upon my sleeve, letting it get soaked in hot tomato soup, muddy from playing in the rain and burnt from playing with fire. Why do I leave my soul so exposed? I tear at the seams that are holding my heart captive upon my sleeve. Crying I rip it from the cloths fibers and throw it back into my chest cavity. I turn my ribs inward feeling the pain hearing the crack. But this is all for the best.

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