RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Patterns of extreme decoration fall upon my sight as I sit in a book, writing away my heart in deference to an unwielding manner of sophistication.
Understanding much more than is being said, hurting, maiming a little ego of a child forever hidden within.
Secluded from an entire lifetime, sequestered in folds of yesterday's misery and faulty thinking.
Solitary openings into nether worlds even shut themselves before I can enter, trying to escape this inferno of undeniable hell on earth.
Losing all identity, forgetting who I am as I pass into nothingness and am disapprovingly gone.
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