An old item of mine from two years ago. Heavily inspired from a rotten ex. Deeply oriented but comes with a lesson.
There she stood, perplexed. Her world, her precious world was shattered. The only thing she had was her iron fist, her everything. He knew all along to not allow closeness, for she would strike. Names etched in each knuckle of the last victims was a clear sign to look but never touch. Her world in the palm of her hand, she made a fist and crushed it herself. She left herself with nothing while he watched. Today, he stands as proof that walls betray those who build them and don’t defend, but instead block vision to the outside.
Unspecified years old.
My feelings on writing:
Writing and reading (for pleasure) are both lost arts. If it's not about something tangible, measurable, no one wants to read it, so why bother writi.. more..