The wreckage of her soul is poetic. Her verses cascade from her eyes in iambic pentameter. Her survival is a fiery resilience, that engulfs her parchment; each page set aflame and extinguished in her storm. There is beauty in how she rises from her ruins, in the midst of her own destruction.
On days like this, I am the house and the ghost, responsible for my own haunting. My brain is a revolver with, “Am I good enough?” in every chamber. So I turn into a factory that only makes the word “yes” and I say it until I can easily Mistake it for the truth, but […]