Daytime

The world does not see me beating my fist against my forehead trying to numb my mind, to silence my thoughts, a cracked record repeating, “stupiddumbstupiddumb.” A young child filled with fear of her creator, I died with the first bloody thrust of the maker’s tool. Emotions muted by thick black clouds of depression nothing can penetrate the shell around my heart. I remain as a shameful stain poisoning the soul of this broken and scarred body.

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