Reopen my wounds, slip your fingers inside the hollows of crimson and force the hurt out…Slow and agonizing, yet orgasmic urges grow stronger through the pain—flashes of red flow down the curves of my body sparking the delight of punishment inside me. Hold my hands. Love me until my flesh has turned raw…

If only the broken silhouette in the mirror would morph back into that little body in a princess dress—shining an irreplaceable smile accompanied by red lipstick that has spread onto my teeth. A cheap plastic tiara, more valuable to me than diamonds, would lay atop my head. High heels ten sizes too big for my feet would loudly thud against creaky floorboards. Lighter than air, I revert to oblivion regarding the hurt which lay ahead. The blanket of bitterness that never seems to leave my damned tongue vanishes, and the hole inside my chest fades away. Suddenly, I have never forgotten what it feels like to be whole.

Parents are our roots, if we stem from filth, it will show in the shimmering of our gorgeous leaves.

Another imitation thanksgiving, forged in memory. Breaking bread. yet i find myself already full with Catholic culpability, forever reigning thick in the air. they may label me a Denier, a sinner, but even still, i proudly denounce the Existence of a god created through Fiction, labeled as love, Granted solely on arbitrary allocation.….